Interview With the Protege
by RowanDarkstar
Summary: In his last years, Will sits down with a visitor and shares his memories of life beside Helen Magnus.
1. Chapter 1

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:** When this site recently stopped accepting character section breaks like rows of asterisks, it removed this essential formatting from all earlier chapters of this fic. This means the jumps from present time to flashbacks are no longer denoted, which makes reading extremely confusing..._sigh_. I am attempting to go back and fix all early installments with some kind of notation for breaks, but this process is long and tedious and not yet complete. I deeply apologize. Please bear with me!

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor.:)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler:))

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the first part in a series. Though there will be an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told.:) For reference, Chapter 2 is already in beta (go me! LOL).

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "###". Traditional section breaks will use "88888".

Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE**  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 1:

The old man wraps lanky fingers around the bedpost and pulls himself upright. His knees crack as he straightens his legs, but he has long since learned to ignore the pain. Stop moving and death catches up with you. He learned this fact on his own. Not all those around him faced the same fate.

Friday mornings fall quiet at Whispering Pines. Visitors are rare. Weekday visitors tend to come on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, squeezing in some guilt-pacifying time with elderly relatives before the workweek gets the best of them. Other folks wait for the weekend and bring the family.

The old man's visitors are rare. Such is the limitation of the life he chose to lead. He wouldn't trade it for the world.

Sunlight streaks warmly through the windows of his room. He lives in one of the best suites in the facility, sporting an enviable view to the meticulously groomed courtyard below. He never expected to spend his last years in such luxury. Money aside, Will had long expected to end his days bleeding on the floor of some dirty warehouse or backstreet. Wrestling a monster underground, looking up at the passionately worried eyes of a woman shouting orders and skillfully wielding a scalpel.

But here he sits in his golden days, in a room with all the amenities he could desire; attendants at his beck and call. The weather has warmed and he intends to spend the remainder of the morning outside. He doesn't stay as warm as he did in his youth. Sitting on the veranda in the autumn breezes no longer holds much pleasure. He remembers his first time on a windblown rooftop, standing in the dark and asking her if she was a little cold. He remembers wishing later that he'd known her well enough that night to understand the rare revelation in her reply.

Today is warm, and he craves the sun.

The old man gathers a leather-bound journal and a fountain pen from his roll top desk. He takes a jacket from the coat tree by the door and lays it over his arm, checks the pocket for his keycard, then makes his way into the hall.

This place has become home now in as many ways as he thinks it ever can. He smiles and says hello to the fresh-faced and kind attendants he passes in the corridor, he waves to fellow residents he spots down the side hall in the game room. He is comfortable here, grateful for the luxuries. But he found his true home once upon a time, in the most unlikely and wondrous of places, and he knows his connections to that place will never fade.

The sun is like caring hands on his skin, and the old man follows the wide veranda around to the side of the building, choosing a large wicker chaise in a far corner, sheltered from resident traffic, but offering a no less spectacular view. He's far from the only one taking advantage of the brilliant weather. He has only just settled into his seat, balancing his journal on his knee and untwisting the cap of his pen, when a shadow falls across his lap.

The old man squints up at the figure before him.

"Excuse me. Are you Dr. Zimmerman? Will Zimmerman?"

The voice belongs to a man, no more than 30 years old. The old man thinks there is something of the East in this new arrival's ancestry, and he thinks of Mumbai and spiders beneath the sea.

"Who's asking?" the old man replies.

The new arrival gives a quirk of a smile, and the spark in his eye suggests he believes he's reached the end of a long quest. "My name is Michael Orman. I was told I could find Dr. Will Zimmerman here. One of the attendants pointed in me in this direction. You are Dr. Zimmerman?"

"Should I know you?"

"No. But I know you. I've known you for years."

"How could you? I haven't yet said who I am."

Michael Orman slips a hand into the pocket of his loose white slacks. "Forgive the presumption, Doctor. But frankly, I've been studying you and your work long enough to know that you are the Dr. Zimmerman I seek. You may have aged a bit from the photographs I have, but your eyes are just the same."

Will Zimmerman sits back for a moment and lets his gaze slide over this man, his own mind still as lightening keen as ever. His gaze absorbs detail after detail. The slight favoring of Orman's right knee in his weight distribution, the cut of his shirt, the price of the watch on his wrist, whether the tan line matches the jewelry, He can find nothing to tell him why this man has shown up at his feet, whether he is friend or foe.

"What can I do for you, Michael Orman?" Will says, without ever directly acknowledging his own identity.

"All I ask is a bit of your time. I seek...knowledge. Explanation."

"I cannot give you that," Will says simply. Then, "I'm not the man you seek."

Orman tries to continue the conversation, tries to argue, but Will turns his attention relentlessly to his journal, and eventually the young man walks away.

He returns the next day, in the afternoon sun.

"I know who you are, Dr. Zimmerman," Orman says again. "And I need your help. I need to know...about her."

"About whom?" Will asks, despite himself. He had intended not to look up from his reading.

"The doctor. The lady herself. Helen Magnus."

"I don't know who you're talking about," Will says. He sees the light, the spark again in Orman's eyes, and tries not to remember his own first walk through the residential quarters of the Sanctuary; the wonder and fear and sense of worlds unknown and adventures begun. He can still smell the perfume she wore that day, hear the rustle of her skirt and the click-clack of her heeled shoes.

"Come on, Dr. Zimmerman. You're the only one who can help me. Just give me ten minutes. Ten minutes of your time. I ask much more, but I will take only that. For now."

Will doesn't say a word. He returns to his book, though he can't focus on the words.

Orman returns the next day. And the next. And the next.

On the sixth day, Orman says, "This is the last time I'm going to ask you. Then I will go away if you wish. But you need to know...this woman, this Dr. Magnus...I met her. Long, long ago. She saved my life. My family's life. My mother, my sister, myself. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for her. We would have all been captured, most likely killed. She was there, out of the darkness, and then she was gone. And I want...I _need_ to know...who this woman was. Who she is, if she still is. Who she truly is. She changed my whole life. Freed us from what we thought was a curse. Taught us what a gift we possessed. I have read all I can read, talked to everyone I can, learned what little information there is out there, on the streets, in books. I've learned so many of the facts, so much of the framework. But I can't find what I need to know. I need to know...who she is."

Will sits for a long time in silence, and for a moment he is not on the sunlit veranda of Whispering Pines, but shivering on an impossibly high tower rooftop, watching the woman of his childhood dreams with her hair blowing in the wind and her shawl close around her shoulders, explaining all that had haunted and plagued him from his childhood. Gentle long fingers in his hair and a blanket around his shoulders and a lifetime later a blurry face in the rain apologizing for her driver and telling him he's going down the rabbit hole and through the looking glass, this time to stay.

"Ten minutes," says Will Zimmerman.

Minutes meld into hours. He knew that they would.

Orman balances a steno book on his knee, a pencil bobbing between his fingers. Will is seated across from the man, in the wingback chair he favors, before the fireplace in Will's own sitting room. They've been talking for hours. Over the course of two days.

Will hadn't realized how long he waited to tell this tale. But the words spill out of him, as though this opportunity is the be all and end all he's been anticipating for years. The stories on his tongue taste like coming home. And he can't stem the tide.

"I can't believe you had the nerve to kill her?" Orman asks, eyes bright in the flickering fire, cheeks pink from the close warmth.

Will gives a gentle laugh. "Neither can I. Even now. I think my heart stopped with hers for a bit that day."

"Yet she didn't blame you?"

"Why would she blame me? It was her request. It was the only choice." He's sure of all of this now in ways he once was not. The irony of the inverted roles is not lost upon him.

"I suppose it was...but still...only a few months together, and the immortal Magnus, dead on the floor by your doing."

"She's not immortal," he says, words impassioned and strong, and for a moment he remembers feeling like a protector, sure-legged and confident. "She never has been. She's as vulnerable to a bullet or drowning or a blow to the head as you or I. _Never_ forget that."

Orman looks duly chastised, and gives a sober nod. "I'm sorry." They fall quiet, and Orman scribbles a few more notes on his pad. There is pretense between them of writing a book, a story. Interviewing for research, and Orman plays the role of the archivist.

The exchange is more comfortable in this light.

"You spoke of the conflict between Dr. Magnus and her daughter," Orman ventures at last. "In the wake of the news...of her father..."

"Yes."

"May I ask where things went from there? Did the doctor and her daughter come to terms?"

Those simple words, and Will finds himself in a shadowy corridor of the Sanctuary, wrapped in shawls of memory. "I didn't discuss the matter with Magnus again, not directly. And I never spoke with Ashley about her father. Things were still...off for a while. We all saw it."

"But..." Orman is a perceptive man, a reader of faces and inflection. Will feels a wisp of admiration and recalls passing a test over verdigris and a doorknocker.

"But...I did overhear a conversation one night. I didn't mean to..."

"Tell me."

Will debates a moment, then gives free reign to let the years fall away.

He takes a sip of the Earl Grey at his side, then clears his throat to speak. "There was a party at the Sanctuary one night, not long after we returned from the Bermuda Triangle. A holiday party for all the staff, the abnormals who were allowed to roam free..."

###

Will slipped his hands in his pockets and turned another corner, moving quietly and casually through the Sanctuary hallways that were fast becoming his home. He was still in the stage of wonder, and part of him hoped that would never change. He caught the occasional spark in Magnus's eyes when she locked gazes with Sally or touched hands with extraordinary friends through glass. Considering her years, this gave him ample hope. But the idea of family was new to him, and he doubted whether he would ever trust in its true solidity. In this...he suspected he had more in common with his mentor than he acknowledged most days. Or than she acknowledged.

The sounds of music and lively voices floated behind him as the festivities continued. Will had been having a lovely time, getting the chance to get to know a few more of the resident abnormals, settling in more comfortably as one of the inner circle. For the first time in a long time, he actually found himself looking forward to the holiday season, and wondering what on Earth one buys a 157 year old woman for Christmas. Or worse, her rather deadly daughter.

Will told himself he was in the hallway to stretch his legs, get a bit of cool air and take a brief respite from the revelry. He refused to admit he was watching around each corner, tracing familiar circles and waiting for the click of high heels and the scent of lavender.

Magnus had disappeared from the party a little while ago. And he was worried.

Will was very near to giving up and returning to the party (and Henry's promised rousing round of Christmas Carols on his electric guitar), when he caught a glimpse of movement in the shadows.

Helen Magnus was standing just down the next hallway, almost breathtaking in her quiet elegance. She leaned back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle in her t-strap heels, shawl pulled close around her. Her holiday dress was simple and dark and flattering in all the right ways. Beautiful. Yet the sadness around her hung like a cloak.

Will watched in transfixed silence. He hadn't worked up the nerve to approach her when the opportunity flashed and was gone.

Ashley appeared at the far end of the hall, a splash of bright hair and red silk blouse, drink still sparkling in her hand, movement and manner on a faster plane than those hiding in the hallway, lingering in the shadows.

The women's eyes met, and suddenly Will's need to be invisible was all consuming. He had never quite announced his presence, but now he couldn't get away without intruding on the moment. As silently as he could manage, Will slipped into a narrow, curtained alcove and settled beside a Mayan vase. He meant not to watch his friends, but the pull was so strong...

Ashley moved purposefully down the hall toward Magnus. Magnus remained subdued, tired or...he wanted to say 'hurting'. But she acknowledged her daughter's approach with a small smile. Will had never seen these two lack for warmth in one another's vicinity, even in the darkest of times.

Ashley slowed her pace and took up a place beside her mother. "Hey. What you doin' out here?"

Magnus drew a soft breath, then shrugged. "Just...taking a breather." And it occurred to Will that her excuse sounded as weak as his own.

"You all right?" Ashley prompted.

Helen turned and offered a pacifying smile that failed to brighten her eyes. "I'm fine."

The two women were quiet for a long moment, Helen's gaze returned to the floor beyond the toes of her shoes.

Ashley let go an audible sigh, sagged a bit, and leaned the side of her head against the wall. "Mom..." She let the word draw out and speak for itself.

"What?" The determination was admirable, but the intimacy in Ashley's tone had cracked Magnus's fa ade and her eyes had hazed with tears. She couldn't quite speak and still keep it together, and Will found he wanted to be anywhere but here and he wanted desperately to have the right to intervene. He had never meant to betray her privacy.

"If you're fine, why are you crying?" Ashley asked simply.

"I'm not crying." But there was a dry humor in the defiant words, for even Magnus knew it was obvious.

"Mom." _Come on, you're kidding me._

Magnus looked at her daughter and half shook her head. Because whatever it was, it was there, alive between them, the fact of it all, and Will could tell there was nothing left to say. He felt the ache from his place in the shadows.

"We're okay," Ashley said, her tone softening with a gentleness to which Will was so rarely privy.

When Magnus didn't respond, her daughter nudged her with a drink glass against her arm. "We are."

Magnus held Ashley's gaze for a long moment, then she nodded with something too akin to dismissal. When her gaze had settled straight ahead once more, she whispered, "Okay."

Ashley sighed, understanding the withdrawal as well as Will. She settled her back against the wall, shoulder just inches from her mother's and began to study the painting across from them with the same false intensity.

When Will began to think the silence would stretch forever, Ashley said softly, "Did you love him?"

"What?"

"My father." He could tell the words felt foreign on her tongue. "Did you love him?"

Magnus's eyes narrowed, her tone warning. "Ashley..."

But Ashley was undaunted. "No. Before. Back when he was...you know...just your boyfriend. Just...John. Some guy in your class." Her gaze remained locked on the painting.

Magnus drew a soft breath, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. Fighting her tears with every syllable, she whispered, "I never loved anyone so much in my life. Until you."

Ashley cleared her throat and shifted her weight against the wall. "Well, then...it's okay."

Magnus closed her eyes, turned to face Ashley directly. "Ashley, just bec-"

"No. Mom. It's okay."

The solidity of Ashley's formidable tone pressed Magnus into silence, and she shifted once more to rest her back against the wall.  
Ashley wiggled nearer, and nudged Magnus's shoulder with her own. "Hey. What do we always say? Hmm?"

Helen slipped a tongue over her lips, recrossed her ankles and gave an incredulous laugh that hurt to listen to.

But Ashley wouldn't let it go. "No, come on, Mom. What do we always say?"

She held Ashley's insistent gaze for a long long time, the pain thick in the air, then at last she forced the words across her parted lips. "You and me. To the very end."

Ashley gave her a soft smile. "That's right. So there ya go."

Ashley tangled her hand with Magnus's. And Will watched as his mentor's fingers clasped hard in return. Then, without a word or a moment's eye contact, Ashley turned and buried her face in her mother's shoulder. Magnus's hand rose to cradle her daughter's blonde head with a tenderness Will was both ashamed and grateful to see.

Magnus pressed her mouth to the top Ashley's head, and while her daughter couldn't see, Magnus's composure shattered and for the first time, Will saw Helen Magnus cry.

When Ashley lifted her head, Magnus's composure was immediate. The two women hung together a few moments longer. Then Ashley tipped her glass toward Magnus, and said impishly, "Don't be too long."

"I won't," Magnus said, voice still shaky, as her daughter spun on her heel and strode back toward the party.

Magnus lingered against the wall until Ashley had turned a corner out of sight, then with a heavy breath she pushed away from the wall and started off in the opposite direction.

Her hand rose to shade her eyes as she walked, no less even purpose in her step for the lack of sight. Will held his breath as her steps brought her dangerously close to his poorly sheltered position.

Then it happened.

The world slipped into slow motion as Magnus's free hand swung out, and she drug the backs of her knuckles quite deliberately down his upper arm.

She never opened her eyes, never slowed her pace. She took the next turn in the corridor and was off in the distance before he could restart his heart or catch his breath.

###

"She _knew_ you were there? All the time?" Orman is quite literally perched on the edge of his seat, notebook forgotten on the arm of his chair, as captivated by Will's tale as the man himself once was by the scene playing out before him.

"She did. Magnus has...a keen sense of her surroundings. I learned that before long."

"Then why...why did she...?"

"Because...well, I didn't fully comprehend it myself at the time, but...she was telling me I was...family. Like I had said on the sub. She was telling me that she knew I was there, and that...it was okay. That she wasn't going to call me Dr. Zimmerman and leave the room. I think it was her way of saying I could come out of the alcove next time."

"Did you ever speak of it?"

"Not once."

"In all the years?"

"Never."

Orman presses back a bit into his chair, catches at his pencil as it threatens to slip to the floor. "There's no one like her, is there?" he says softly.

Will chuckles in the firelight. "You have no idea. And with that thought...I believe we've talked enough for today."

"Oh, no. No, one more story. Please. Just one more." The man is like a child resisting his bedtime. Question after question after question. _"Ten hours trapped in a tin can with me...and all your questions."_

Will gives the man his best skeptical gaze, but he knows even as he lays on the pretense, that there is so much more he himself wants to say. And maybe not many more years in which to say it, nor many more ears to listen.

"What do you want to know?"

#


	2. Chapter 2

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "---". Traditional section breaks will use "*****".

Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 2:

"You mentioned earlier that Dr. Magnus told you she had buried many lovers..."

The fire crackles and flickers, and Will knows they've been talking too far into the night. But the night that was once his mortal enemy has long since become his friend. "Well, I said there were lovers amongst the many loved ones she has buried," he clarifies.

"Well, you worked beside her a long time."

"Almost fifty years, in some capacity at least. My field days have been gone for a while."

"Surely, in all that time, you must have witnessed..."

"Helen Magnus is a very private person," Will says, and takes another sip of his tea, now cool.

"I've no doubt. Yet over the years, you did become close friends?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so." Because they did get there, they most definitely got there. But it was not a simple nor a direct route by any measure. And there were nights he had thought he would never really be on the inside. Nights he thought what they had had slipped away on the cruel wings of time. "It took a long time to...," Will settles into his chair, shifting his tired hips and searching for long lost words, "...to feel like she would open up to me, like I truly mattered in her personal life. Like I was someone she would turn to. The friendship was kind of...one-sided for a long time. But a relationship with Magnus, even a pure friendship...it doesn't work like anything else you've ever known, you need to understand that. It can't work the same way for her. Everyone she ever...anyone she lets herself care about, lets herself need or love...she's setting herself up to suffer losing them. Having to go on without them."

"But isn't that a risk we all take?" Orman asks. There is no condescension in his tone, only a genuine desire for understanding. So Will keeps trying to explain.

"A risk, sure, but for her it's almost a certainty. At the very least, she's forced to watch her friends grow old and fall out of her daily life. And not everyone can deal with watching her stay young. It's not so easy being the friend having to watch her...go on without you, surround herself with a new group of people. It can be hard to believe you ever really mattered to her at all, out of all the people she's known, will know..."

"But did you believe it? Do you?"

A long moment passes before the old man can find his words. "On a good day, yes. And I did for the years when we were... well. On a good day. Dr. Magnus needs a family, just like anyone else. For all of her...measured distance...Magnus has a gift for making people feel worthwhile, loved. At the end of the day, Helen is a caretaker. A doctor, a mother...she offers people...of ALL varieties...sanctuary."

"We were talking of lovers."

Will gives a wry look. "Were we?"

Orman only lifts his eyebrows and adjusts his narrow glasses. Will admires the man's skill in manipulating silence to prompt others to speak. Such had once been his own trademark.

"I learned about one of her past lovers, once. The first year we worked together."

---

"So that way, you can activate the protocol from any terminal in the Sanctuary, and then all the access points will be PIN entrance only. Until one of the heads of house or security chiefs can reach the lab and enter the ID code to deactivate."

"All right. Got it." Will sat in the rolling chair beside Henry Foss, hand propped on the desk as he peered over the younger man's shoulder at the spread of monitor screens before them.

So much to learn in this place. He'd been here for months and he still felt like the trainee with a big sign around his neck. With the current lull in monster crises Magnus had ordered Will down to Henry's lab for a crash training course in security protocols. Technically, they were also supposed to be scanning the security feeds for signs of a small dog-like creature that had slipped out of The Big Guy's arms at feeding time and disappeared rather effectively (due to his chameleon-like ability to camouflage his fur), but the crisis was low level as the creature's worst threats were his tendencies to chew up favorite shoes and dig holes in ancient carpets. Nonetheless, they had instituted a lockdown of the outer doors, activating secure entrance and exit procedures to prevent the little guy's escape.

"And you designed this system?" Will asked admiringly. Technology had never been his own forte. He knew only what he needed to know to survive in the modern world of medicine.

"Yeah, the PIN protocol was all my programming."

"I'm seriously impressed."

Henry gave a shy smile and said, "The Doc likes us to earn our keep around here."

Will gives a soft laugh and a nod. "Yeah, I see that. So...you seem to pretty much be the brains behind the entire tech side of this place; security, data..."

Henry offered a self-deprecating shrug. "Yeah, well...I seem to have a way with electronics."

"Well...you're pretty young, you can't have been in charge for too many years. So who handled this side of things before you?"

Henry glanced Will's direction as he continued to glibly flip through the varied security cameras. "Well...you met Barnsworth from the UK Sanctuary, right?"

Will nodded, "Briefly, yeah."

"Yeah, he filled in for a while...'til I was old enough the Doc let me take over full time."

"Filled in...so who came before?"

Will caught the hesitation. Henry wasn't a difficult read for a person of Will's skill, and it was clear there was a deeper story here. But Will chose not to draw attention to his observation and quietly waited to see what he might learn.  
"His name was Jeremy," Henry said. "He worked tech here for....I don't know, maybe 15 years? He'd already been here for a while when I came."

"And you were, what, eight years old?"

Henry shrugged. "Somethin' like that, yeah. That was the Doc's guess. I don't think we...did birthdays in my original family. I don't even really remember them."

Will was quietly touched by the revelation. Henry rarely spoke of his past, and the easy confidence was unexpected. He still found himself forgetting Henry was not human. The slip was too simple, the contrary knowledge too new. Even after all this time, everything about this world felt new.

"So what happened?" Will asked, his tone soft and respectful. The answer clearly wasn't good.

Henry flipped through a few more security screens and took a sip from his soda. "Jeremy, uh...he was killed in the field. Taken down by a pretty vicious abnormal. Hunting it in the streets right outside Old City."

Will sat back in his chair. "Oh, God, that's terrible. Must have been pretty hard on you, if you'd know him that long, grown up around him."

"Yeah, it was rough for all of us. He was kinda like an uncle or something to me and Ash. But the tough part was...," Henry tossed a glance toward Will, perhaps testing his ground, perhaps wanting to convey the story as much with a look as words, "Jeremy and the Doc...they were a...thing. For quite a while. Got really close. Most I've ever seen her let somebody in, ya know? She was out in the field with him when it happened, but...she couldn't get to him fast enough. The Big Guy found them after. Said the Doc was holding onto Jeremy and just...wouldn't let go. Big Guy finally had to lift her off of him and take her home."

Will pulled off his glasses and swiped a hand down his face, the image burning behind his eyelids. "Aw, God...that's..."

Henry's voice took on a more muted tone, as though he thought Magnus might appear at any moment. But he spoke as if he thought this were something Will should know. "The Doc was pretty...shut off after that. Haven't seen her let anybody else in. Big Guy says it had been a long while before Jeremy, too, so..."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah...we all were. Jeremy was a good guy."

"He must have been."

"We used to--hey! Did you see that?" Henry bolted upright, eyes glued to one of the monitors.

Will scanned madly to catch his bearings. "What?"

"I think I saw Rudolph!"

"Our dog thing?"

"Yeah. Oh, crap...he's headed for the Doc's private rooms! Shit. Cover the monitors?" he asked with a pleading expression as he shoved back his chair.

"Uh...yeah. I'll do my best."

"Thanks, man!" Henry tossed one walkie to Will, snapped the other to his own waist and was out the door at a jog.

---

"Did you catch it?" Orman asks breathlessly.

"Catch it? Oh, Rudolph? Yeah, we caught him. Well...Magnus caught him."

"Oh, really?"

Will gave in to a nostalgic chuckle. "Yeah, well...turns out she was _in_ her rooms at the time, so...Rudolph, Magnus half dressed, some Italian shoes, Henry late to the party...I'll leave the rest to your imagination."

"I see." The two men share a smile.

But the shadows of the tale wind back through the room. "She must have had many moments, like that night with Jeremy."

"More than either of us could ever comprehend."

Orman nods in silence.

Will lets his gaze get lost in the last sparks of the fire. "I hugged her for that, once. For the night I wasn't there."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...that image of her loss that night...it stayed with me for years. And we never spoke of it. I don't know if she ever even knew I knew what had happened. But...one night--this was many years later--when something happened -- something much smaller -- I looked at her and I saw that woman there on the ground of Old City, with her dead lover in her arms. And I walked over and just...hugged her. Hard. She never knew why. But I think maybe...she sort of understood. Because of the context that night. 'Cause she hugged back. And she didn't let go for a while."

"You must have been a true friend, in the end."

"I hope so. As I said it took a long time. But she surprised me once. Only the second year we were working together."

"And how was that?"

"The night...after John Druitt--"

"The Ripper?" The spark of fascination makes Will sick to his stomach.

"Yes, but...there's more to it than that. Far more. He was a man, in the beginning, and after. A good man. He and Helen were engaged." He tries to soften the reflexive defensiveness that floods his limbs.

"I know. I know, you've told me, but that's just...it's _fascinating_."

"No. No, it's not. They're not some sort of _curiosity_, they're not some perverse form of entertainment for you to enjoy."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

Will waves a hand and turns back to the fire. "It's all right. I remember being where you are...watching Druitt and Watson...but it's just...Magnus and Druitt are two very human beings, two very good people I happen to care a great deal about, who've been through hell for twice as long as you could hope to be alive."

"I can't imagine."

"No, you can't. That's the whole point."

"Right." Then after a quiet pause, "You said she surprised you?"

Will lets go a bittersweet laugh. "Yes. She...it came right after the day the Sanctuary seemed to be haunted, and we learned the nature of Druitt's curse." And for a while they speak of teleportation and electric abnormals and nerve gas and ventilation shafts, and Orman scribbles madly in his notebook. Then they come to the point of the story Will wishes to tell.

"He was gone, then?" Orman prompts. "You had no way of knowing where?"

"No. It was some time, before...well...that's a story for another day."

"So, that evening, you..."

"We patched the Sanctuary back together. Like always. Kept putting one foot in front of the other. It got very late very fast. We'd all...had a hell of a day. Not the first time, but... Everything was finally quiet, everybody settling down for the night. Ya know, that time at the end of the crisis when you start to suddenly realize how long it's been since you slept, and how sore your muscles actually are? I think everyone else had gone back to bed. I was ready to crash, and I went down to Magnus's office to check in. She was sitting on the back of the settee, ankles crossed, some sort of report in her hand. She looked up as soon as I came in, and I...well, I pretended I was just there to check in with her about work, see if she needed anything else that night. Like I always did. But then my nerve kicked in, and I said....

---

...you all right?"

Her answer was too brisk. "Mm hm."

Will held her gaze for a long beat, studying her, waiting her out, but all he got was a mild lift of her eyebrow. She had softened with the hours. Her tie was gone, blouse unbuttoned to be just a bit revealing, vest hanging open. Her make-up had worn down, and the firelight warmed her features to something more real than the intimidating figure she could present during the day. He felt privileged to be one to see her like this.

But he also felt the tangible wounds, and he knew she was travelling through hell and hadn't said a word. He drew a careful breath, considering every step forward. "Look," he began softly, "Magnus, I know it's not really my place, but--"

"You're my best friend, Will. It is your place."

Years had passed since Will Zimmerman had been at such a loss for words.  
Magnus lowered the file to rest on her thigh and gazed at him in patient silence.

Will tried his reply, cleared his throat, then managed, "I'm...really?"

Her gentling features molded into a fleeting smile, awash in sadness. Her eyes fell heavy, showing the wear of the long hours. "Yes. It's all right if I'm not yours. You are allowed to have a life outside of this place."

With that he couldn't suppress a reciprocal smile. "Magnus." He stretched his arms wide and looked pointedly around the empty room. "You see anyone else around me? Of course you're my best friend."

She graced him with a shy, but genuine grin. They lingered in the warmth for a beat.

"So you were about to stick your nose into my personal life, I believe."

"Which, apparently, I'm entitled to do."

"You are."

The playfulness fell away as he contemplated his next words. "Magnus. I don't pretend to know a fraction of what exists between you and Druitt. But just knowing what I do know, knowing what you told us went down today, what you learned, what you saw...I can only imagine this has gotta hurt like hell."

Her gaze had settled on his boots, and she offered no glimpse of eye contact as she said softly, "That would be a fair assessment of the situation, yes."

"Magnus..."

She raised her eyes, cocked her head with a sort of bitter glance of inevitability. Something he guessed she had mastered far better than most humans. She started to speak, but fell silent. She looked deeply, achingly tired.

Will took a step nearer.

"My stomach hurts," Helen whispered. And Will felt like he'd had the air punched out of him. Because these were the most vulnerable words he'd ever heard cross her lips.

His voice was a thin thread, "Magnus..."

The silence pressed on his skin.

"Do you want me to...I can make you some ginger tea?" he offered, because he couldn't fix the hurt, he could only patch the wounds.

Magnus shook her head, "No, you...," then she winced slightly, seemed to catch on a thought he couldn't hear, "...actually...yes, that would be nice."

"Okay. I'll...I'll go make some tea, and...then maybe we can sit and talk while we sip?"

"I'd like that."

He held his breath, then turned and took a few halting steps toward the door.

"Will? Could you, um...could you bring back an ice pack as well?"

"Wha...uh...sure. What...?"

"I...," she tried a couple of times to reply, struggled with words he wished desperately to hear, but he saw her let go of the effort and resign herself to saying simply, "my ribs are bruised."

He let the omission stand. "Okay. Do you need me to take a look at it?"

She shook her head. "No, it's all right. Nothing broken, just sore."

"Okay. I'll be right back, all right?"

"If you come right back it's instant."

A hint of a smile played on his lips. He welcomed the spark like a child in a dark closet. "Do you want to come to the kitchen with me? Observe my work?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Well, then, let's go."

Magnus stacked her files on her desk, grabbed her cell phone, and then trailed a step behind him as he lead the way through the shadowy and winding halls.

---

"She let you care for her, then?" Orman asks, his own fatigue showing around the edges of his dark eyes.

Will flexes stiff fingers and gives a simple nod. "She did. Seems we were always patching one another up. I was never so glad I'd chosen med school."

"Did you learn what had happened to her ribcage?"

Will stares into the fire. Orman added a fresh log some time ago. "She never said," he replies. Which is true. She never said a word. But Will and Henry reviewed all the security camera footage, standard Sanctuary procedure after any intrusive incident, certainly after the death of a refugee in their own halls. They watched the recordings, watched the man Helen had loved for a century and a half slam her to the ground and kick her across the floor like a mongrel dog. Henry looked ill. Will didn't eat for a day afterward. Helen's movements were stiff and careful, the change hardly noticeable to the untrained eye.

Orman doesn't speak, and Will guesses he understands there's more. There's always more.

"That's all for tonight," Will says, no question in his tone. His own ability to lead, to command, has grown considerably through the years. He once deeply envied his mentor's ability to lift an eyebrow and bring silence and order to a room, while his own directions fell from his tongue like suggestions and were generally treated the same by their recipients. The imbalance righted itself with the decades.

Orman responds to the finality and gathers his things. "I'm sorry to have kept you up, Dr. Zimmerman. You don't know how much I appreciate--"

"It's all right," Will says.

Orman reaches out to shake the old man's hand, and his touch is warm and firm, skin heated by the fire. Will does not miss the drafty halls of his longtime home. "May...may I return tomorrow?"

"Bring donuts. This place is filled with health food."

For a moment Orman looks completely disjointed, then his face softens into a smile. "Donuts you shall have," he says. "And I will show myself out."

The small click of the door, the beep of the security system, and Will is alone. Memories whisper around him like ghosts.

*****

#


	3. Chapter 3

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "---". Traditional section breaks will use "*****".

Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 3:

The wind has gained an edge and a bite and the birds gather in dark smatterings like paint across the pale sky. The ground is cooling and the old man knows winter is visible as a streak on the far horizon.

He sits beside Orman on the narrow balcony outside his sitting room. The younger man appeared on Will's doorstep at 9am with a box of donuts and a carton of orange juice. For now, they have chosen eating over talking.

"Don't you ever have to be at work?" Will asks around a bite of glazed donut that tastes far better than it should. He nurses a fleeting and private memory of Helen Magnus sucking glazed sugar off her ring finger while she scans an intake report.

"I've taken some time off. I live and work in Miami most of the time," Orman says simply, and he takes a sip of his orange juice.

"A journalist you said?"

"It's a day job," Orman replies, and from the flick of his eyelid, the curl of his fingers around the arm rest of the chaise lounge, Will understands the story behind the man's words. Orman is as displaced in the normal world as he himself once felt.

"Hmmm," is all Will offers in reply as he invests himself in a bite of apple cinnamon.

"Did the parasite really destroy the entire population of mermaids?" Orman asks, apropos of nothing, and Will understands Orman's mind has not left their conversation of the previous night for a moment, he has only allowed this respite to appear respectful and patient.

Will lets the shift happen and responds as though the comment naturally followed their current conversation. "Nearly. That wasn't the only colony in the world, but it was the largest. And the other colonies were of slightly different species."

"There is more than one kind of mermaid?"

"There are many races of human, aren't there?"

Orman gives a soft smile and chooses another donut. "Indeed there are."

"At the time we found no evidence of survivors from Sally's colony. But through the years...we found a few who had survived. Living alone."

"Were you friends with...Sally?"

"Yes. Yeah, I considered her a friend. I wasn't nearly as close to her as Magnus, but...."

"Dr. Magnus was close friends with your mermaid?"

"Very. Sally...she'd been at the Sanctuary for nearly a century. She was one of Helen's oldest companions."

"I can't...I can't imagine living your everyday life...out in the light of this world, on the surface. And all the while, your close friend is a mermaid."

Will gives a soft chuckle. "I can almost remember how surreal those things seemed at first." _I was you. A long time ago._ "But the human mind is an amazingly adaptable entity. And these creatures, they have existed beside us all along. We are prepared to understand them, to accept them."

"I suppose so..."

Will takes a sip of the juice, dabs at his mouth with the cuff of his sweater, then allows himself a nostalgic smile. "You know, I realized along the way, that the moments with Dr. Magnus that seemed the most surreal to me weren't the ones involving vampire squid or Tesla and Watson, or blowing up a helicopter, or vanishing nubbins. Somehow Magnus fit right in on that landscape. She made sense. It was the more normal moments that never stopped catching me off guard. The moments when this brilliant and strong and brave and adventurous woman with a century and a half of life under her belt suddenly appeared completely _normal_. It took me a long time to be able to fit all the pieces of her personality into the big picture. _Now_, she's just Helen to me, in the normal moments and the bizarre. Not that I fully understand her," he clarifies with a pointed glance toward his companion. "I don't think anyone can, there just isn't enough common ground of experience, but...eventually you find the woman in the legend."

"That's _exactly_ what I'm here to do, Dr. Zimmerman. That's exactly why you're the only one who can help me."

Will lets that statement ring for a long moment. He feels the truth in the words, knows this is the very reason he has indulged this young man's questions. Because he himself remembers the angel with the warm lap and welcome blanket, remembers searching for years to find the humanity behind the mythical arms carrying him to shelter. Wondering if she ever existed at all.

"I came down the stairs to the main foyer of the Sanctuary one morning," Will begins, closing up the last remnants of the donuts in the box, thinking he will stick them in the refrigerator for an afternoon snack, "and Magnus and Ashley...they were throwing Superballs."

"Excuse me?" Orman gives a light cough born of donut crumbs, and touches his napkin to his mouth. "Did you say..."

"Superballs, yes. See it was all stone and marble in there, and the two of them were...they were bouncing the balls off the floor and trying to shoot them up to the ceiling. And they were throwing them pretty hard...both ladies had some impressive strength when needed. So the balls were ricocheting with authority, and Ashley and Magnus were ducking and dodging trying not to get hit. And they were laughing...like 10 year olds..."

"What were they trying to do?"

Will shifts and turns in his chair, faces his guest more directly as the story pulls them into its web. "See, that was my first question as well. I figured there was surely some scientific principle behind it, some kind of...experiment they had started out with, and then... But when I asked, they just looked at me like it should have been so obvious. They were just having fun."

Orman doesn't know what to say, Will can see it, and he just stares at his host in wonder. He isn't taking notes, they are still eating donuts. The wind rises, and Will thinks they should move inside. Or at least move.

Orman manages to say, "They were...playing?"

"They were. And Magnus was ducking and laughing and cheering when hers got higher than Ashley's, and...sometimes..." Will draws a slow breath, stops to drain the last of his juice. His styrofoam cup threatens to fly away on the breeze. "...sometimes...I think that's when they really became my family. Not when they let me see their work, but...when they let me see them...play."

"Tell me more," Orman says.

Will draws a slow breath. "Let's walk," he says. He takes two tries to push up to his feet from the low chair. But his legs do not fail him when he stands.

*****

The path wanders through the manicured gardens, into more shadowy places beneath draping trees.

"Aren't you cold?" Orman asks. "Would you like me to go back for your coat?"

_"Man...it's really gotten cold tonight." He shrugs free of his worn barn jacket and drapes it over her shoulders, sheltering her from the icy wind whipping through her thin silk blouse. "Did we get the last of them on the transport ship?"_

_She nods, gaze on the far reaches of the sleeping city. "What was left of them."_

_"Heeeyy. We did the best we could."_

_Her mouth twitches slightly, but she gives only a small sound of acknowledgement. When she finally looks his way her gaze slides curiously over his t-shirt and down his bare arms, then she glances at her shoulder. "Is this...did you take off your jacket and give it to me?" Her gaze is intense and seeking._

_He's lost as to what she's thinking and doesn't have a clue what to say. "Um...yeah, I'm...I'm sorry, were...weren't you cold?"_

_The crease still lines her brow and her tongue slips out to moisten her lips as she nods. "Quite freezing."_

_"Um...soo..." He can't piece it together. He can never profile her._

_Magnus offers him a small smile, then turns away almost shyly, and he catches the haze of tears filling her eyes._

_"Whoa, whoa, hey...hey, what..."_

_"Nothing. I'm sorry, it's just..."_

_His fingers are brushing her inner elbow. The lightest of touches. "Just...?"_

_She shakes her head. "Just no one's done that for me...in a long time."_

_He tries to breathe. "Oh."_

"Dr. Zimmerman?"

"Hmmm? I'm sorry? Oh, my coat. No. No, I'm not cold. Thanks."

Orman watches him for a moment, then lets it go, sliding his hands in his pockets and turning his attention to the poplar trees by the side of their path. "You were telling me of the surreal moments," he says.

Orman is relentless in the subtlest of tones, and Will is once again admiring. He remembers the thirst, the quest. They walk several more paces in silence, and Will is conscious of Orman deliberately slowing his customary pace to match the old man's steps. The awareness sinks in Will's stomach like sour milk. He wants to be running the streets again. He is the same man within the declining flesh.

He thinks of her running on the dampened blacktop, a breath and a pace ahead, high-heeled boots and tight leather slacks, weapon in her grasp and hair slapping in the wind. "There was this one time...," Will says with a careful glance up the path, assuring their privacy, "...we were running late, we'd been working half the night, and we had an early meeting that morning. We were in Magnus's office, and I was trying to brief her on the police reports on this violent attack in New City before we left to meet with the victims. And Magnus was sitting at her desk...painting her nails some dark mauve color. She didn't seem to think this was anything out of the ordinary, but, me, I could hardly make sense reading her the reports, because it just seemed so...incongruous. Seeing her painting her nails. I don't know why it just...it just struck me that way," he trails away with a shrug and a step to the side.

"I understand," Orman offers.

Will eyes the man for a moment, watches the speed of his blinks, the movement of his fingers against his thigh, and believes the words to be truth.

"Magnus is always meticulously groomed," Will continues, wondering how they came to such a topic, but likewise feeling this is an important part of the picture he is painting, "always fashion conscious, as to her own style, at least. She's certainly never been governed by popular trends. She's seen too many come and go to care about that. But I think it took me a while to really realize that all that image didn't just happen. That despite her business-like nature, there was a woman in there who was taking time out of her days to shop for clothing, earrings, choose make-up, try on high-heeled shoes."

"Indeed, I can see where it would be difficult to imagine."

"I think Kate did a lot to help her bring that side of herself into the open air more often. Kate certainly wasn't what I would ever call a girly-girl, not least because she'd probably kick me in the balls if I did. But she was very serious about dressing to her own image. Choosing her clothes, her jewelry. And she and Magnus sometimes went shopping together. I remember them walking together once through a bazaar in India, trying on scarves and pendants. It was...it was very sweet, actually." Will breaks into a genuine grin and slides his hands into his pockets, mirroring the posture of the younger man beside him. He fingers the small golden treasure in his left fingers. "I remember one time when Magnus was giving orders to Henry and me, all formality and severity in a crisis situation, but she was sitting on the arm of the couch in her office, and Kate was standing behind her braiding Magnus's hair. It was just...well, it was memorable. I used to see barrettes or belts or bracelets change places between Helen and Ashley. And later, things started getting mixed up between Magnus and Kate."

"An impressive detail for a man to have absorbed. I'm quite certain I would never have noticed such a thing. And I have two daughters."

"You do? Hmmm. Well...I have a bit of an eye for detail, if none for fashion," Will says, deflecting the compliment as is his custom. He is who he is. He remembers subtle proud smiles, gently acknowledging nods, and crinkles at the corner of pale blue eyes that made him long for things he had convinced himself in childhood were gone.

"From all I've gathered in my research...I understand Dr. Magnus could be...quite memorably beautiful." Orman's tone is careful, testing; implying he will allow Will to lead the conversation deeper or farther away without argument.

Will lifts his chin into the wind. He lets the thought brew and steep for long moments, then says carefully, "Her sexuality was always subtle. She never made a point of it. But it was always there. In the way she moved, the way she spoke..." _The way she drew words across her tongue like ambrosia, her lop-sided smile and the way she half winked as she brushed your shoulder in the hall..._ "We were on a stakeout one night. Camped out in a van outside a hip New City night club where the owner was some kind of...modern day slave trader of the abnormal population. We were doing all we could to bring him down. That night we were monitoring every word and movement in the place while Kate wormed her way into the back rooms to find the evidence we were sure was there. But then something went wrong. Kate almost had what we needed, but our guy was cutting out of the main floor of the club scene early...which was _way_ out of pattern for him. And we needed a distraction to show up and fast."

---

"Ten more minutes! I need ten more minutes and I'll have everything you need," Kate whispered urgently into the mic in her bracelet.

"We're workin' on it," Henry whispered back, then with a quick flip of the outgoing mute switch, he turned to the team gathered around him. "All right, guys, we need a distraction and _now_."

Minds raced around Will in the tight quarters, but all words seemed to fail. Prompting people to shape their thoughts into verbal truths was home ground for him. "Okay, what's Rossworth's weakness?" he asked. "What blinds him to business?"

Will hadn't even realized what the reply to his prompting would be until the words were out of his mouth. The somewhat awkward realization rippled through the bodies around him, and then without a word everyone in the van was staring at Magnus. Who was the last to catch on.

"_What?_"

Henry fidgeted with his stylus pen and tapped his fingers on a nearby keyboard. "Uh...the guy pretty much loses his marbles around beautiful women."

"The club is filled with beautiful women," Magnus said flatly.

"True that," Henry said, with an appreciative glance at the camera feed monitoring the main floor of the club, "but I imagine they're all women he's seen around before. Clones of the usual fare, so to speak. But someone new on the landscape...somebody flashy, noticeable...might..."

Will was more than clear on what Henry was trying to say, and both he and the Big Guy were staring openly at Magnus.

Her sharp gaze darted amongst the three, and finally she cocked her jaw in a mock grin and cringed. "You're not serious."

Will tested his power of speech. "You...are the only woman here. Kate's kinda busy."

"Yes, but--" she stopped on an exasperated sigh. Because seconds counted at this point, and she knew it. Magnus squeezed her eyes closed. "Crap," she breathed, and Henry almost laughed, burying his reaction in a well-placed cough. "Fine," she snapped. Then addressing all of them, "Turn around."

The three men shifted in the cramped space to give her at least a modicum of privacy. She never did tell them to turn back around, their only cue was the opening of the van's rear doors. "I'll get you ten minutes," she said, and the three men sat speechless as they watched her disappear around the building, then appear on their surveillance monitor at the front of the club.

Magnus had slipped out of her slacks, leaving the bodysuit beneath, then taken the wrap she'd had around her shoulders and tied it about her waist as a skirt. Sans jacket, her blouse proved to dip quite low in the back, and her legs were bare down to her strappy heeled shoes that had apparently come from the still half open bag in the back of the van. Her discarded boots lay near the rear door.

Magnus slipped past the bouncer with little more than a smile and a whispered word too soft for their microphones to catch, and then she was on their monitors on the main floor.

Will gripped the back of Henry's chair, leaning close and watching Magnus with an intensity he told himself was professional concern for a colleague walking into the lion's den unprepared. Henry had turned up the volume on Magnus's personal mic and the team could hear the steady techno beats of some popular and particularly sex-infused melody pounding through the club. Magnus made her way almost effortlessly through the throng of hot bodies, drawing hungry gazes as she passed, to the corner where Rossworth was working himself free of his posse.

Will was almost certain -- even all these years later -- that the image on the monitor had somehow slipped into slow motion as Magnus walked the path through Rossworth's vision, reached up and unpinned her hair and let it cascade down her largely bare back.

The awkwardness level in the van was tangible in the air, though not a word was spoken.

Magnus got them their ten minutes. Kate came bounding back into the van, all adrenaline and accomplished vitality, babbling about her brilliance until her eyes followed the rest of the team's to the monitor and her words turned to, "Holy fucking crap, is that Magnus?"

"Yeah," the three men replied in unison.

"What the freak is she doing?"

Henry gestured feebly toward the monitor where the woman who had raised him was leaning over one of their worst enemies and affording him an up close and personal view of the valley down her blouse. "You said...," Henry stuttered, "...you said you needed ten minutes, so...we thought..." Kate reached over Henry's shoulder and snatched up his microphone. "Magnus. I've got it, we're clear, you can get out."

Henry looked as though he wanted to melt through the floor, while Will opened and closed his mouth without achieving sound. The Big Guy grunted and Kate rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ, I leave you all alone for five minutes. How did you keep this place alive before I got here?"

---

"So, she actually..."

"She did. You see most of the time we just didn't...we chose not to notice how beautiful Helen Magnus is. We...it just wasn't how we related to her. We stayed focused on the work, on our roles we had chosen to play in her life. But that night..."

"...that night...you noticed?"

"I noticed," Will says, then he looks away, watches a flock of birds rushing from the shrubbery as the unwelcome humans pass. He is drawn into memory and treading into territory he has thus far chosen to keep in silence. He thinks silence is better.

"Let's go inside," he says.

****

#


	4. Chapter 4

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "---". Traditional section breaks will use "*****".

Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 4:

The warmth of his rooms is most welcome after the chill autumn wind. Will takes up his favorite place by the fire and allows Orman to be the one to take a log from the hearth and set the flame to life. They have stopped in the kitchenette for mugs of tea, and Will lifts his mug to warm his fingers against the ceramic heat.

"Can I get you anything?" Orman asks, no condescension in his tone, and so Will allows the offer.

"I'm fine," he says simply. He hates being waited upon, doted on. It makes his teeth itch.

The fire is slowly blossoming and he feels proper sensation returning to his fingers and toes.

Orman's notebook has reappeared, now resting on the small tea table beside their chairs. It is time for serious talk and darker tales. The sun is behind the clouds, and the afternoon feels more like evening.

Orman is twirling his pen in his fingers and looking at the scribbles in his steno pad, and for a fleeting moment Will remembers elegant fingers and polished nails twirling a pen round and round and round. He remembers cataloging in his profiler's mind that this was one of the few small tells when Helen Magnus was really upset, holding and drawing on the information for years to come. "You said your mermaid and Dr. Magnus were close," Orman says softly. "It must have been rather brutal for her, discovering what happened to Sally's people."

Will settles deeper into his chair, and takes a moment for a careful sip of the warm liquid in his mug. "When we came home from the trip to the Bermuda Triangle...I was so wrapped up in my own experience, in the idea we almost lost Magnus, that _I_ was almost responsible for the loss of Magnus...In my desperation to get to the surface with both of us alive and well, and then simply the hassle and routine of the ride home...I forgot until right as we were stepping through the Sanctuary doors...forgot that we would have to tell Sally what happened. We would have to tell our friend, who had sent us to her home colony because she was so worried for her family and friends...that they were all gone. That they had died horribly and cruelly."

Orman shakes his head and lowers his mug to the table. "The remains of the massacre, that must have been a horrendous thing for you to witness. Especially for Dr. Magnus, as a personal friend, acquaintance of some of these creatures; even after all the atrocities she has seen..."

"It was. It was horrible. But you would never know it in the moment, not from her. Magnus never skirted anything, never used euphemisms where facts should be spoken. She always appreciated frankness and honesty. But there was never melodrama or escalation. I think it's the only way she can live the life she's been given to live. She has to face the harsh realities head on and deal from there. You can only lie to yourself for so long. And she goes on too long to sustain the illusions."

"I heard it quoted once that the greatest gift to mortals is the illusion that love lasts forever."

Will raises a sardonic eyebrow and lets a dark chuckle escape his lips.

"What do you think of that assertion, Dr. Zimmerman? What did Dr. Magnus think? Is there a statute of limitations on love? Does it exceed the mortal lifetime?"

For a moment Will turns and gazes out the window, across the elegant grounds and watches the gathering birds alighting in the distant trees. _Breath on his ear and strong arms dragging her away._ "I don't know if love is eternal. I don't think Helen knows. But it does far outlast the typical human lifetime. That it does."

"Dr. Magnus and John Druitt...did they...do you believe..."

"That...is not a question for me to answer."

Orman nods and Will sees the man's understanding; he has crossed his bounds. He has been indulged to the extreme already. They are quiet for a long time.

"You have to understand...," Will continues, leading the way, "as I said before, at her very core Helen Magnus is a caretaker. And once she takes responsibility for someone, takes him or her or _it_ under her wing, she feels every hurt, every loss to that person or creature almost as if it were happening to her. Everyone she's lost...there is a part of her that feels it's her fault."

"Such a list seems too much to undertake, too much for one woman to carry."

"That it does, my friend. That it does." There is silence and crackling fire. Then, "I followed her down to the habitats. To talk to Sally."

---

The echo of steps on the lower floors of the Sanctuary still had the power to drown Will in memories of his first walk through Wonderland. His senses had been on high alert those first days, the impressions burning deep and lasting. He recalled in painstaking brilliance the smallest sounds, the smells, the colors.

Of the days in which everything changed.

Following his mentor into the inner sanctums once again, Will realized these next moments -- the sounds, the words, the quirk of an eyebrow or the color of Magnus's blouse, the movement of her earrings -- these things would be forever burned in Sally's mind. Not for the world having opened up to her. But for her world having shattered in a heartbeat.

Magnus walked at Will's side, but she might just as well have been several paces ahead. She was out of his reach, every nerve and thought centered on her unfathomable task. They had ridden the elevator side by side in silence. But Will had learned quickly that silence was all right with Magnus, even welcome. She could appreciate a friend's presence without a word spoken, desire companionship without need for conversation. They had become comfortable in the past weeks in being together with and without words, and Will felt no less welcome for the silence tonight.

Magnus's steps slowed almost imperceptibly as they entered the habitat rotunda. The tails of her draping cardigan swung against Will's hip as he instinctively adjusted his steps to her pace. For the first time in hours, Magnus turned and locked gazes with his, still not speaking a word. But the openness in her expression stole his breath. He felt certain she was asking for some kind of strength, a single moment of solidarity to carry her through the journey. But before he could find the ground beneath his feet to steady hers, Magnus turned away and crossed the open floor to the water habitat.

Will remained glued to the floor just inside the entrance.

Sally swam up to greet Helen. Their fingertips connected on the glass, Sally's hair swirling around her sculptured face like a wave of dark grasses in the wind. Magnus's free hand gripped tightly to the clipboard she held beside her thigh.

She whispered Sally's true name.

To Will's utter surprise, Sally's voice rang in his head. He knew she could choose which minds heard her words. She could have opened her voice only to Helen, but she was quietly acknowledging his presence.

_Helen. What is it?_

"We went to your home."

_And?_

"We did reach your colony." Magnus's voice was soft, unnervingly even, but the gentle quiver in the undertones made Will's chest sting. He slipped his useless hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.

"You were right," Magnus continued. "They _were_ in danger. They were in need. But we..."

_Tell me, Helen. Just tell me._

Magnus shook her head, hair shifting softly across her back. "We were too late. There was a new species...a parasite. Tiny, unintelligent little parasite that makes its home in the pyramidal tract of the brain stem. It transfers hosts by exchange of bodily fluids, so in humans the infection is reasonably containable, but with a species in the water, breathing the water.... I was infected myself for a while, but... The parasite affects the limbic system. The center for emotion, aggression, fear, paranoia--"

_Stop it._ The words stung behind Will's eyes, prickled his scalp. _Tell me._

The delay was only a beat, a small tilt of Magnus's head, then, "Under the influence of the parasite, your colony tore each other apart. All of them."

Silence. Then, _Show me_.

"NO." Magnus's word was a sharp command in the echoing hall. "You don't want to see--"

The next thing Will knew a sickening barrage of gruesome images blasted through his head like a film on fast forward. He lifted a hand to his head, grabbed at the wall to steady himself against the onslaught, and Magnus smacked her hand hard against the thick glass. Her voice rang urgent and broken as she shouted, "_Stop it._ Stop it, please don't look. Don't look!" And Will realized the images in his head were snapshots Sally was pulling without permission from Magnus's mind and hurling back at her, letting her see what she had taken.

"I'm sorry," Magnus whispered, choosing softness in the face of Sally's violence, "I'm so sorry...we couldn't stop it, we...they were all gone by the time we arrived and I don't..."

Will heard the almost deafening scream in his head and with pointless hands covering his ears, he caught the splash and whirl as Sally shoved away from the glass and dove wildly into the recesses of her home.

"No...God, no..."

Will had never heard Helen Magnus's voice bleeding such pain.

Her clipboard hit the ground with an echoing snap and Magnus was moving, moving toward the passage to the tank entrance bay. Even with her first steps, she shed her cardigan onto the floor, then pulled her knit blouse over her head.

Magnus never glanced his way, but Will returned her act of trust and backed out of the room. From his post outside of view, he heard the bay doors opening and the splash as Magnus dropped into the water. The dive was so fast, she was either free diving or had snatched up a snorkel. Not enough time for scuba gear. Not enough time for a suit.

Will walked away. The pain of the night shimmered in the air.

*****

He left his friends their privacy, but his feet would not carry him far. Will could still see the glimmer of a question...no, a request...in Magnus's eyes as they had stood on the threshold. He couldn't leave her for the night.

Will found himself on a Queen Anne bench in the hallway leading back to the elevators. He stared at the patterned stone between his shoes and interlaced his long fingers.

He was both touched and a little taken off guard by the trust both women had placed in him. Moments of inclusion left him on uncertain ground. He hadn't learned how to be part of a family. He hadn't expected such a thing to fall into his life again, and as much as he welcomed the experience, there were deeper places in him that clung to his autonomy like a comforting blanket.

On dark nights he thought this was something else Magnus understood. Something else they might share.

His thoughts swirled through histories with presidents and parasites and antibiotic cocktails and the meaning of belonging. He didn't know how much time passed in that hallway. Hours, perhaps. He knew he was thirsty. And sore, and tired. But he could only imagine whatever minor aches he felt tripled in Magnus and magnified exponentially in the solitary mermaid beside her.

So he waited. And at last Magnus emerged from the rear hallway, clothing neatly in place and clipboard back in her hand. Her hair hung in barely toweled ringlets, darkening her sweater in damp blotches. Her make-up was near gone and she appeared painfully tired. Again.

Magnus noted his presence with no surprise. Her footsteps brought her to a halt beside him and she drew a slow breath, offering not a word.

Will said simply, "I want to ask if she's okay, but...she can't be."

"No. She can't."

He sighed softly, let his gaze slide over Helen's countenance. "How about you? You still need rest yourself, after..."

"I'm all right. I'm... I'm just cold. The water was cold."

"I know," he softened his tone, wishing he had the right to give more. To wrap her in something warm (again), dry her hair, _hold her hand_. "I don't think you were warm yet from the sub."

She nodded, appearing too weary to argue. "Perhaps not. Will, probably her entire species...how do you..."

Will dipped his head, worked to secure Magnus's elusive gaze before he spoke. "You hold onto your friends," he said steadily. "Friends like you."

She let go an embittered laugh. "I can't even breathe under water."

"Do you feel like she loves you? Like she's there for you? Even if she can't breathe air?"

Magnus flinched, gave a reluctant nod. "Yes," she whispered.

Will didn't bother to voice the obvious next step to the thought, just gave her a sympathetic and sad smile. "You should dry your hair."

She nodded. "I think I'm just going to head up to bed. I'm quite tired."

"All right."

"You should do the same." She rallied what little energy she retained and offered him a moment of kindness with her eyes.

"I will."

Magnus nodded once more, then gave his shoulder a tender squeeze as she moved to go. Will's own hand moved to cover hers, but he was a breath late and just missed contact with her fingers as she slid away and strode off down the hall. His own hand lingered awkwardly at his chest as he listened to the sound of the elevator doors.

---

"Dear God. That is one night I do not envy you," Orman says into the quiet of the darkening afternoon. The fire brings necessary light as the sun fades to grey at the windows.

"I wouldn't care to repeat it," Will says softly.

Orman clears his throat, shifts his weight and props his foot on the opposite knee. His dark fingers rest across his bare ankle and Will notices the width and brushed texture of Orman's wedding ring. "I imagine, looking back, that a part of you wishes...you and Dr. Magnus had known one another longer before that night. That you could have...done more for her, that your relationship had been such that you could have handled things differently."

_"Will...where..."_

_"Helen? Whoa, I'm here. I'm right here. Sssshhh...come here. Come here." Silk, hair, velvet skin._

_"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I...."_

_"Hush...I'm right here." Lips against sleep-warm skin, fingernails in his shoulder._

"Yes," Will says, gaze never leaving the fire. "Yes. Things would have been different. Later."

Words in the room remain unspoken, dancing about their heads on wisps of smoke from the flames.

"Was Sally all right?" Orman asks through the clouds. "Eventually, I mean."

Will sniffs, fishes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and swipes at his nose. The warm drink after the cold air is opening his sensitive sinuses. "She survived," he says plainly. "She was a very strong spirit. A lot like Magnus, in her own way. It took time, but she found her way to go forward. We all spent as much time with her as we could, for what it was worth. She remained with us for many more years."

The formality in Orman's posture has slipped a bit. They've been talking for days, and the comfort levels have shifted. Orman's spine is allowed to slump, his clothing allowed to rumple. "I see what you mean," he says, gaze upon the scribblings in his notebook, mind in a world far away, "about Magnus being a caretaker. She was a sort of... house mother, wasn't she? To all those needing Sanctuary."

"Yes. Exactly. We even spoke of it one night, in a way," Will says, and he's falling into the next story before he decides if the subject is one to be shared. His voice is thready for overuse and his throat is sore, but the words have been freed, and he is powerless to stop the rush.

"It was the second year we worked together. Magnus and I had been up half the night, coordinating a search and rescue overseas, creature escaped from the French Sanctuary. We were trying to do what we could from our home ground, keep the gears greased. Nothing too life threatening, but just...daily fare in the Sanctuary network. Always a fire to be put out, feathers to be unruffled. And generally in the middle of the night. Anyhow, _Magnus_ could go days without sleep, but as much as I might have hoped that part of her gifts would rub off with time, I was pretty damned useless without my eight hours, even in my prime. I'd fallen asleep on the couch of her office while she was slaving away at her desk. And I guess...well, I was having a nightmare. I've lost the details with the years, it doesn t matter. But the first thing I remember was...

---

Will jerked awake with a startled cry, eyes wide and a bit wild as he struggled to place his surroundings and pin himself in time. Soft, golden lights, a fire burning. Office. Magnus's office. And Magnus herself, seated beside him where he lay on her narrow settee, her hip pressed against his, and her files discarded on the coffee table. Her blazer was gone, blouse unbuttoned a few notches. And the look of tender concern on her face left him unable to look away.

"Will. It's all right." Gentle fingers settled on his upper arm. She rested her other hand on the back of the settee, shifting and balancing to face him directly. Her crossed legs were close at his side. "You're safe," she said softly.

Will's breath came hard and fast, chest rising and falling in unsteady rhythm. A thin sheen of perspiration pulled his t-shirt in uncomfortable lines across his torso. His nightmare continued rushing remnant images past his eyes with accompanying surges of sick adrenaline.  
The golden light of the fire brought equal warmth to Magnus's gaze. She smoothed her hand soothingly up and down his arm. "Easy," she whispered. "Are you all right?"

Will fought hard for control. He was more than a little chagrined at being caught in such a vulnerable moment, especially in the context of work, utterly without armor under Magnus's painfully perceptive gaze. He cleared his throat, swiped a shaky hand down his face, and bumped into his glasses. Pulling off the offending object, he made a half-assed effort toward aiming them at the table, but Magnus's graceful hands caught hold of the delicate frames and slipped them from his fingers, placing them safely on the glass surface.

Will forced a deep, even breath and nodded. "Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. I just dozed off while you were on the phone. I'm sorry."

She ignored the apology. "Are you certain? Looked rather nasty."

_Aw, crap._ "Naw, it's just...I'm fine."

The quiet sigh that crossed Magnus's lips and the almost imperceptible sag to her shoulders told Will his fa ade had been pointless; that he appeared something far less than fine to her eyes.

Magnus gazed at him for a long moment with tucked brow and churning thoughts, then she said slowly, "You know, Will...you _can_ tell me. If you want. I mean, I know...I know, sometimes it must seem like everything around here...is all about me. About what I want, what I will and won't allow, what...what I'm dealing with. Especially these past few months. And truthfully, I haven't done a good job of being here for any of the people I love this year. One of the things I most pride myself on is my role as friend, being a friend to those I care about without fail. And I'm not very fond of the person I've been lately. Born of necessity, perhaps, but nonetheless...I don't like the end result." Will was soaking in every word and struggling to clear his sleep fogged thoughts and not miss a single inflection or detail. Magnus no doubt took his expression for confusion, and she tried to pull together her words with a bottom line. "I'm just saying...I want you to know...if you ever want to talk...about _anything_...I am here."

The burn in Will's stomach was a mixture of fear and a delicious ache that spread through his limbs like hot chocolate in the blood. He held Magnus's too blue gaze for at least three breaths before he pushed his reply across his lips. The sincerity of his own confession was disturbingly foreign. "You know, the truth is...that's a really new thing for me. I mean, I've never...I'm used to having to deal with everything on my own. And my first instincts are to default to self-reliance. To shut people out."

Magnus cocked her head, a hint of an almost playful smile glimmering at the corner of her eye. "Yet you make your career out of coaxing others to open up to you."

"Are you trying to say 'physician heal thyself'?"

Magnus smiled, and the room felt warmer. "Perhaps." Then after a beat, "I know what it is to think you have to handle everything alone. My childhood, thankfully, was far more sheltered than yours. I had a very secure and loving start to my life. Parents I trusted, who were always there for me. It's in the years since I've learned not to expect to have anyone to rely upon. But I can tell you...even when you know you'll outlast everyone else...closing yourself off completely just...well, it isn't a workable option."

Will listened, really listened, in the way he knew was unique to his physiology, part of what allowed his deeper understanding of people, his facility in earning their trust. But Magnus's words cut too deep. Her message spoke too close to his soul. He couldn't be the clinical observer, keeping the focus on the weaknesses in others. There was much he should have said. But in the end he said only, "It doesn't seem like it's all about you."

Magnus was not so easily pacified. "Mmmm, that's not what you said in the ocean off New Orleans," she offered with a hint of a wry smile. But there was too much truth in her words, and he knew she had cried herself to sleep in the hotel room in New Orleans. The walls had been thin, they'd been headboard to headboard. And Tuesday had been Ashley's birthday.

"Hey, that was...we talked that through, right?"

She nodded, but she was no longer looking at him.

Will pushed himself a little closer to upright, thigh pulling against her hip as he moved. He propped the small of his back against the arm of the settee. "Magnus, what you do here...the very essence of the Sanctuary, how you define your profession...it's all about protecting others. Taking care of others. It's not about you."

Her features softened, but she couldn't quite pull off a smile. "Thank you, Will. But I think sometimes...I'm better at taking care of strangers...than I am my own family."

"I don't think that's true." He paused. Then, "I was dreaming about Clara."

Magnus's gaze snapped to his, all self-consciousness suppressed or forgotten. "Oh, Will. I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. Psychology, dreams, grief patterns -- these were things he understood, ground where he could find purchase. "It's all right. Just...my mind's way of dealing. I still dream she's around. That she just...walks back in one day. Like nothing ever happened. With some wild story about her escape... Then other times, people keep telling me she's there, just in the next room, just around the corner. But I just keep missing her, she's always out of reach. And part of me knows it's wrong, even while it's happening...that it's too good be true, that it's just...what I _want_."

"I know. I still do that. With several people. It's a natural part of the process."

Will watched her in silence, processing all the implications of her revelation, then he nodded.

"But it hurts," Magnus said, and the sincerity and simplicity in her statement made her seem so much younger than her 158 years. Miss Helen Magnus in a carriage in Piccadilly Square.

"Yeah." Will's word traveled on a thin breath, and he was almost painfully conscious this was one of those moments. Those real and genuine inexplicable moments he kept in neat compartments and preservation jars in his head. Stories to hold onto. Stories to tell. Some day. "Yeah, it does hurt," he agreed. "How do you...how do you keep doin' it?"

Magnus shrugged easily, then gave his words back to him with the confidence of a long-lived truth, "You hold onto your friends."

---

#


	5. Chapter 5

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "---". Traditional section breaks will use "*****".

Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project! And to Taliatoennien for joining the circus!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 5:

Will is late for dinner. Orman left him at the end of the afternoon, claiming he did not want to abuse Will's hospitality, that he did not wish to overstay his welcome. Will shook the younger man's hand and invited him to return the next afternoon if he wished.

Will takes some time to himself in the sun room at the end of his residence floor hallway, watching the sun go down, watching the birds in the massive cage covering one wall of the room and thinking of creatures that prefer their freedom.

At dinner, he sits with a friend for his meal, eats in silence more than he talks with her, but enjoys the familiar company all the same.

Strolling back toward the elevators, he stops for a moment in the lounge when his friend Julius calls out to him. Will crosses to where the man is seated in a favorite chair by the game room chess board. Julius is deep in a chess match with a resident who's only been at Whispering Pines for a matter of days.

Will lets his hand rest on Julius's shoulder. "How are you, man?" he asks.

"Can't complain, my brother. Can't complain." The man's lilting accent is musical to Will's ears, and his brightly colored tunic is a refreshing change in a sea of browns and greys. Will prefers diversity to sameness, changing wind patterns to peaceful silence.

Will hears his friend's words both with his ears and like a thought in his head, his touch acting as the conduit.

"You givin' the new guy a run for his money?" Will asks with a mischievous glance toward the tall gentleman focused intently on the configuration of pieces on the board.

"I have only offered the man a fair game. Isn't that right?" Julius directs his question to the newcomer, who hardly looks up and grunts an indefinite response. The larger man reaches across the table, smile wide, and pats the newcomer on the arm. "It is a fair game, my brother," he says jovially, but his hand lingers for a beat on the man's sweatered sleeve.

Will sees it all and cannot suppress a smile. His own fingers still on Julius shoulder, he thinks the words, _You're a rat bastard, you know that, right?_

_I don't know what you're talking about, my brother_ floats through his mind. And Will gives a gentle chuckle.

He turns to the newcomer for a moment. "Good to meet you. Don't bet this guy your bus tokens."

With a last indulgent smile for Julius, Will turns and makes his way back to the hallway. He takes his time with his steps, enjoying the stretch to his restless legs, placing one foot in front of the other with awareness of each motion, each choice of direction. He has always craved open space, room to move. He thinks of running along the Old City Bay, shoes pounding the pavement, heart pounding the blood through his veins and oxygen rushing strength to his lungs. He thinks of the graceful figure backlit on the South Tower, shawl ruffling in the wind, watching his progress along the coast when she thought he didn't see.

He is through the lobby, passing the doors to the building's front garden, when he stops. His gaze alights upon a familiar figure standing at the far end of the path, gazing over the darkened grounds.

The young man paces back and forth in a disjointed pattern, dragging his heels.

Will stands in the lobby, hands in his pockets, and allows himself a few deep breaths to assess the situation. He turns his deliberate steps toward the doors to the garden.

Orman is startled when Will opens the door, but Will merely continues his steady pace and comes to stand beside the man. He gazes out into the night.

"Dr. Zimmerman," Orman begins, the apology already in his eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.... I was just..."

Will shakes his head to silence his companion's words, keeps his gaze on the shadowy trees in the distance. He tilts back his head and looks at the stars. After a beat, Will reaches out and tugs on Orman's sleeve. Orman hesitates a moment, then falls compliant and allows Will to silently lead him back toward the doors. Will holds the door for Orman.

They board the elevator in silence. There will be another story...or two...before Orman leaves for the night.

*****

Will insists upon a round of chess. He isn't sure if Orman lets him win, but he accepts the victory all the same.

"Did Dr. Magnus play?" Orman asks as they put away the marble board. This is his first subtle return to his subject of pursuit.

"On occasion, she did, but surprisingly, it was never really her game. I mean...she was decent, but...she was never _really_ good at it. She told me once that she and Watson used to play, and that he was always kicking her ass, and it infuriated her no end."

Will takes his place by the hearth and unfastens the watch that's been catching errant hairs on his wrist. He scratches at the stinging skin.

"Why do you think it wasn't her game?" Orman asks.

"I'm not sure. Maybe she just lacked the patience. She couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering on a dozen different paths while she waited for her opponent's next move. Chess is a game of patience as much as anything else."

"Hmm."

Orman waits out the ensuing silence as long as he can stand, while Will observes the telltale signs with bemused patience. When Orman dives back into speech it's clear he begins his sentence mid-stream. "May I ask, Dr. Zimmerman...was Dr. Magnus...an affectionate woman? I mean, you've said she was very caring, but you've also said that she was very reserved, very controlled. When you were with her, was she...physically affectionate? Warm...to touch? Please understand, I'm not asking anything untoward, merely--"

Will shakes his head and rolls the after dinner mint across his tongue. Mint candies are one of his few remaining memories of warm family holidays in his childhood home. Before he lost his mother and everything secure and gentle disappeared into the night. "No, I understand.," he says. "And the simple answer is yes. She was always warm. Always welcoming."

"And the complex answer?" Orman is nothing if not predictable.

Will takes a moment to stretch his back, crosses his legs and indulges a slow exhale. "Helen Magnus is very cool, very autonomous. Very conscious of the fact she doesn't quite live on the same plane as most of those around her. When someone else is in need, she always offers a warm hand on their shoulder or a supportive touch to their back. She's very hands-on with her patients, holding hands, stroking cheeks. She was affectionate, but...she wouldn't offer hugs very often, even to friends. It wasn't very British." He catches the younger man's gaze for a moment with an indulgent smile. "But if someone she cared about hugged her, she would return the offer without hesitation." Will pauses to let the last of the softening mint melt against his tongue, draws in a breath and enjoys the cool thrill. Then he takes a sip of his tea and sinks into the charm of the fire. "I actually remember the first time that she... I can't remember how many years we'd been working together, but I'd been away on business for a few weeks, helping with a research project we were running out of the Rome Sanctuary. And the day I got back, I walked into the foyer after an absurd number of hours traveling, and Magnus looked up from something Henry was showing her, she saw me there, and she just..._lit up_." Will can't keep the smile, the wonder from his voice, even from such distant memory. "She called out to me, and walked right over and just gave me the biggest hug. I couldn't....I couldn't remember the last time I'd been welcomed home like that, by anyone. As the years went on, of course, such things became commonplace between us, we were a family, but...that first time. That was...pretty amazing."

"I can imagine." Then after a pause, "Or maybe I can't."

"You see the thing is..." Will lets his words fade, taking deliberate time to decide what to share, and what to hold close. In the pause he feels the cloth of her expensive sleeve against his jaw, smells the wisps of lavender as her hair brushes his cheek. Her skin is warm and silken and her lip-gloss leaves a sticky patch on his jaw line. "Magnus is a very affectionate woman," he says at last. "I knew that from the first day I met her, the first time I saw her with her daughter. She hugged Ashley all the time. She kissed her cheek, held her hand, cradled her face. Ashley would curl up against her mother on the couch without a blink of hesitation. And Helen welcomed all of it, initiated a lot of it. You see..." He watches the fire for a moment longer, then decides to let the words be spoken. "Magnus really _needs_ that. The contact. It's just that she won't ask for it. In my years as a psychiatrist, a therapist...I learned that often the quickest way to learn what someone needs for themselves, is to watch what they offer others. Because it's natural to follow your own instincts, project your perspective onto others. You offer comforts that would help _you_ if the roles were reversed. And I didn't have to watch Helen long to know what she thought would comfort people the most."

Orman considers this for a moment, his gaze moving between Will and the dancing fire. Will has left the window open a crack and a gust of whistling wind stirs the flames. Orman asks, "Yet with all her years of experience, of learning and maturity...she hadn't learned how to ask for her own needs to be filled?"

"There are a lot of things she hasn't learned to ask for. A century isn't nearly as long as you think. It only seems that way when you're young. Magnus has remained Magnus."

The two men contemplate this in silence.

"We actually talked about all this, once," Will says, "many...many years after we met. She explained to me that she had to plan for things. Helen Magnus is nothing if not pragmatic. And as her...unusual life unfolded before her, she had to figure out how to make it all work. How to keep a balance, keep her equilibrium. She couldn't follow the preset templates society gives you for how to live a healthy, stable life. She had to take stock of the things she couldn't do without in life, the necessities of good physical and emotional health, and come up with a plan unique to _her_ in order to fill those needs. One of the things she told me she acknowledged about herself, was that she really does need physical contact. Not speaking of lovers, that is another field of discussion entirely, but just of contact. Affection. And Magnus admitted to me that her needs were a little on the higher side of average in that area. Her need to...hold hands, have an arm wrapped around her waist or...to be held. And when I say admit, I mean it fell off her tongue in the wee hours of the morning after too many glasses of wine, never to be spoken of or acknowledged again." Will feels the gentle smile from Orman and watches as the man casually jots something in the corner of his notepad. "It took her a long time to admit such a thing to me," Will continues. " It may be one of the most personal things we ever shared. Yet at the same time, there was a surprising practicality in the way she spoke about those needs. She had accepted her own humanity, and the necessity of such provisions to keep her functioning."

"I can imagine that," Orman says softly. "I mean, she was a sort of behavioral scientist, among other things. Probably made it easier to be as clinical about herself as she was about the abnormals she studied."

"Yes. Yes, she was always a scientist; it's her default point of view on the world. It's woven into her DNA, I think," he says with an affectionate smile that pulls him into worlds far away and shadowy laboratories and nights of endless monitors and reference books and notes.

"So what was her answer to this need?" Orman asks. "What was her way of coping?"

"She told me she made an effort to surround herself with affectionate people. That she always tried to make sure there was at least one person in her inner circle who would be very hands on with her... And she said it helped if it was someone forward, who wouldn't wait for her to initiate, but would almost...shove past her resistance. Because most of the time she wouldn't make it obvious, or even easy.."

"British?" Orman asks, with a glimmer of amusement.

Will smiles and leaves it at that. Because as much of Helen's confidence as he _has_ chosen to share this night, he will not finish this one confession, will not say she admitted she was more afraid of her touch being unwelcomed, being rejected, than of being left in the cold. Nor will he share that for 23 years Helen had Ashley tangled up with her every day, and she almost forgot the need to provide for that side of her life. Until her world shattered and there was no one left to hold her hand. No one to hold together the shattered pieces.

"So were you...that person? For her?"

To his surprise, Will finds he has never really thought the situation through in these specific terms, never catalogued and defined his place in Magnus's pragmatic life plan. He gives the question due consideration, lets the memories circle freely. Then he says, "For one era of our lives, yes. Yes, I believe I was." And he lets the subject stand.

"So what else wouldn't she ask for?"

Will is beginning to both admire and grow annoyed by Orman's unfailing pursuit of every glossed over nugget of insight, every tiny hint at a larger tale, and he starts to wonder if he himself was this irritating to Magnus all those years.

"A lot of things," Will says, offering a tolerant smile, but placing just enough firmness in his voice to make it clear if any more of this story were to make its way into these sessions, it would come at Will's choice and discretion. "The vast majority of the time, Magnus really was every bit as tough and independent as she claimed to be."

The brief crinkle at the corner of Orman's eye tells Will his companion hears the protectiveness in the old man's voice. Will is half proud and half chagrined by the moment of exposure. But he has accepted certain human truths about himself over the years. And one of these is that he will stand between Helen Magnus and potential hurts for as long as he draws breath. He had acted on this vow before he had ever made the conscious choice, and he had accepted destiny when he sailed away on its tide.

"Most of the time, it was all _too_ real," he says. "She would go through hell and come out the other side and dust herself off and get some sleep and tell you she was fine, and in most ways...she really was. She was incredibly resilient, unfathomably strong. But every now and then, when you didn't even see it coming, she'd just..."

"Just?"

Will lets the words die on his tongue; holds the memories close like a trinket in a clenched fist. _Fall apart. Shatter before your very eyes. Lose all armor and rip your heart out and strip you raw._ "She would just...show you. What was underneath . For all of a heartbeat. Then she'd pull it back together and turn around and keep going. And leave you wondering ever afterward how much was going on in her head just beneath the surface. How much she was..."

"...in pain?"

Will doesn't reply.

"But, Dr. Zimmerman, you were one of her closest friends. Her best friend, by her own words."

"Yes. Exactly."

The silence lasts for several breaths.

"It all just sort of...got to her one night," Will says into the fire of memory. "The loss. It was really about Ashley, I think, because it hadn't been long at all, in the scheme of things...not long at all, and hell, anyone else wouldn't've been functional at all...but...the other losses...they were just the last straw. We'd been in crisis mode for a couple of days. Kate had gotten shot. She'd been in pretty bad shape for a while. Myself, I'd been held hostage, beaten up a bit. And an old contact of Magnus's named Jimmy had ended up sacrificing himself to save the rest of us, literally blowing himself up right in front of us."

"Good God. Hell of a day."

"You're not kiddin'. We'd certainly had worse, but... Anyway, that night, when we were already exhausted, we were inprocessing a new abnormal that had just shipped in from the New York Sanctuary. Dangerous, sort of...crocodile type creature, meant to take up residence in the SHU. Things got a little out of hand during the transfer from the crate to the cell..."

---

"On three. One, two, THREE!" Magnus's commanding voice echoed through the concrete chamber.

Henry held tight to the back of the crate, bracing against the wall of the habitat, while the Big Guy and Will and Magnus hauled on the chains and slid the _Crocodylus Vipera _from its custom designed transport crate.

The UberCroc, as Henry had dubbed the creature, was finally free of the container and lying in chains at their feet. The creature had proven heavier than expected.

"All right, Henry, the keys?"

Henry took a key ring from his pocket and tossed it to Magnus, who caught it easily and stooped beside the creature. "Are you sure you want to set that thing loose, Doc?" Henry asked, eyeing the UberCroc suspiciously. "Couldn't we...I don't know, unlock it remotely somehow?"

"The chains are manual locks, Henry," Magnus replied brusquely. "And Robert assures me he's dosed this creature with enough tranqs to keep it unconscious for at least another hour or so." She set to work on the locks and began pulling the chains free from the creature's limbs.

The Big Guy took the job of gathering the heavy chains and Will stepped forward to help balance the weight. Magnus crouched beside the creature's head to work the last lock on the chain holding its jaw closed.

She was halfway through untangling the chains from its neck, when, with no warning, the UberCroc simultaneously thrashed its tail hard enough to knock the Big Guy off his feet, and whipped its head, emitting bright green acid saliva through bared teeth.

Magnus fell backward and cried out in raw pain as the acid splashed her arm. She dropped her jacket off her shoulders and onto the floor, but the saliva had burned through her blouse and singed her skin. "Dammit!" she shouted. In a heartbeat, Magnus had a fresh tranq syringe out of her waistband, and she was down on the rebelling creature, catching him from behind, and jamming the needle into the back of his shoulder. The first round of drugs still held just enough effect that she was able to catch the creature off guard. The Croc twitched and jerked as it resisted the effects of the fresh shot. "Everyone out, now!" Magnus shouted. "Secure the enclosure!"

Magnus fought to restrain the creature until the drugs were in full effect so the others could flee, and Will lingered two steps behind her, unwilling to leave. He was saved the decision when the Big Guy unceremoniously scooped Magnus up with an arm around her midriff and, before she could protest, hauled her out the door.

A last splash of green saliva smacked against the wall beside their heads just as Will slammed his hand into the trigger to lower the door.

The creature gave one last massive effort, slamming its tail into a nearby trough of water and swinging its body 180 degrees to face the habitat's viewing glass, before finally dropping limply to the floor beside the forgotten pieces of the transport crate and Magnus's ruined jacket.

"Dammit!" Magnus shouted again, steadying her stance where The Big Guy had planted her. "That should have been a sufficient dosage. We've worked with this species before, what the hell were they thinking? Henry, you checked his vitals?"

"I swear, Doc, everything was within parameters before we started the removal process."

Magnus got halfway through her next sentence, "There's no reason he should--" before the pain of the burn overwhelmed her and she broke off with a cry of mixed pain and frustration. She curled down, catching her head in her hand, eyes squeezed tight against the pain.

Will stepped in. "Okay, infirmary. Now."

He touched a firm hand to Magnus's back and urged her in the direction of the exit.

"Henry, we--"

"Infirmary," Will repeated. Magnus started to move without much coaxing, which scared him; the pain must have been severe. The doctor in her knew the faster she got treatment, the sooner they could slow the progress of the burn through the layers of her flesh.

"Set the temperature in the habitat at no higher than 10 degrees Celsius and raise the humidity to--"

"We've got it," the Big Guy growled firmly. "You go."

Will gave the others a brief nod and ushered Magnus toward the door. He chose not to notice his own hand trembling as he punched in the security code to exit the SHU.

*****

Magnus was moving with him, but her pain was tangible. He hadn't seen her react to something this way since the pressure overload 2,400 feet below sea level. They moved through the familiar hallways on muscular memory, steps evenly matched and Will's arm loosely guiding at her back.

They were only a few turns away from the infirmary, when Magnus gave a hoarse cry and pulled away from his touch, dropping against the nearest wall. She cradled her arm to her chest, and squeezed her eyes closed, just trying to breathe and survive the pain.

Will felt dizzy. He stumbled the few steps back to Magnus, and brought his face close to hers, clamped a hand on her good shoulder. "Okay, I know. I know, but the only way to stop the pain is to keep moving, to get to the infirmary. All right?"

Magnus reached up and gripped his wrist, nails digging into his skin. She took one more beat to steel herself, gritted her teeth, then pushed away from the wall with a determined grunt and they were moving again. Will had never before wished for John Druitt to appear and whisk them away.

Magnus was giving orders between painful breaths the moment they passed through the infirmary doors. "Clean it first. Standard...antiseptic. Burn ointment...annnhhh....oh, God... specially formulated.... equipment table. Laid it out in case....AAAAHHH!"

"Okay, I got it, I got it. Sit down."

Will set to work on the wound, and he was deeply relieved to find the damage wasn't as severe as he had feared. But the pain for Magnus was no less tremendous, and cleaning the area was nearly as hard on him as it was on her. He was desperately grateful to move on to applying the ointment.

"Okay, almost there, almost there," Will said soothingly, calm words betrayed by the poorly hidden tremor in his tone. He was more shaken than he cared to admit. Maybe by the whole day. Maybe by Magnus's eyes on his as she saw the evidence of the blows to his face while he was held back by two guys shaped like gorillas. He forewent the impersonal and inefficient applicator pad, and dipped his own gloved fingers to spread the ointment over Magnus's fire-red skin. She cried out as he again made contact with the wound. But within seconds of the application, her breathing began to slow, her posture easing as the numbing effect took hold.

"Okay," Will breathed, pulling oxygen again as his patient did, "there we go, there we go." His speech was as much to calm her as to convey information. "It looks okay, all right? It should heal just fine in time. Just let me get the bandage on."

Magnus sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, her long legs not quite reaching the floor, boots dangling sharp heels. She kept one arm clasped tight across her midriff, the other she held out to him, palm upward, utterly pliant to his ministrations. Will sat before her on a slightly imbalanced lab stool, rocking between the uneven legs as he gathered the bandage materials from the rolling tray.

He was halfway through meticulously wrapping the long tail of gauze around Magnus's forearm, when he realized her breath was still too shaky and uneven. It wasn't slowing like it should.

Will lifted his gaze from his intent focus on her wound, and his fingers fumbled and the gauze slipped from his grasp.

Magnus was crying. Just..._crying_.

"Whoa, hey...hey, Magnus, is this...is this your arm, or...?"

Magnus gave only the slightest hesitation, then she shook her head. He could see the rational doctor take precedence to the woman; her reluctance to admit vulnerability overridden by her need to provide him with the requisite facts to properly treat her wound.

"What's goin' on?" Will asked, voice offering the gentle caress his hands feared to give. He dipped his head in a fruitless effort to catch her evasive gaze.

Will was left to guess that the tears her injury had started had mixed with a hefty surge of adrenaline and left her stripped in the letdown, deprived of the walls she kept so firmly reinforced. Maybe there was more...maybe it didn't really matter.

"Hey..." Will pulled hard at their unspoken connection.

Magnus didn't speak, but she sat before him with tear-blurred vision and trembling breath, hand still turned up, cradled loosely within his own.

Graceful. Beautiful. Broken.

"Come here," he said at last. Moving on instinct before thought, Will let the unfinished bandage hang free, and stood to wrap his arms around his friend.

Magnus gave a half-hearted effort at pushing him away, lifted the hand from her stomach to press against his chest and wrest free of his embrace. But Will held steadfast, whispered reassurances that brooked no protest, and cradled the back of her head in his hand. And a moment later, Magnus had wrapped both arms across his back. She held on tight and her tears soaked into his shoulder.

Her body quivered like ripples of water against his chest.

Magnus didn't speak. They'd almost lost Kate, and she'd watched Jimmy die and maybe that much more loss had knocked the wind out of her and shattered her facade. She'd been running on empty for weeks. Not enough time had passed to replenish her reserves. He knew she was seeing Ashley in every moment and breath of their days. At her customary place at the dinner table, in the doorway to her room, in the empty place at meetings and the extra ponytail fastener in her desk drawer.

Four days ago, Magnus had miscounted the team when distributing routine tasks, glossed over the error with an half-awkward turn of phrase as they all realized she'd mentally placed her daughter on weapons inventory. Then she had unceremoniously dismissed everyone from the incomplete meeting.

She hadn't let Will offer anything but his presence as comfort since the day Ashley died. So he held on now, for as long as she would allow.

It wasn't long enough.

---

"Was her arm all right?" Orman asks, voice hushed in the lingering ache of the scene around them.

"Yes. It healed. Hardly a scar. She heals...well."

"Indeed she does."

Will is grateful when Orman hears the meaning beyond flesh wounds.

"And now...I think it's time for me to get some rest," Will says softly.

Orman gives a silent nod. He will not ask to stay twice in one night.

Will's guest leaves with soft handshakes and murmured pleasantries. They confirm their set time for the following afternoon.

Will leaves the lights dimmed as he readies himself for bed. He douses the fire, and slips carefully beneath his thick comforter. He watches the dancing of the leaves across the canopy of his bed.

And for the first time in years, he lets himself miss her so much it hurts in his bones.

*****

#


	6. Chapter 6

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:** When this site recently stopped accepting character section breaks like rows of asterisks, it removed this essential formatting from all earlier chapters of this fic. This means the jumps from present time to flashbacks are no longer denoted, which makes reading extremely confusing..._sigh_. I am attempting to go back and fix all early installments with some kind of notation for breaks, but this hasn't happened as yet, and I deeply apologize. Please bear with me!

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "###". Traditional section breaks will use "88888".

Many thanks to Teddy E, Annie, and TaliaToEnnien for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 6:

The sun trickles through the shade elms, peppering the balcony in checkerboard light. The flickering pattern colors the tables, the cushioned chairs, the garden planters, and the cloth of Will's shirt.

He is growing tomatoes and strawberries this year. His fingers in the dirt, the leaves against his skin, offer constant reminders of his place in nature, ground him in the seasons and the turning of the Earth.

Will reaches for a set of shears. Today he is repotting petunias. He decided the balcony could use some color.

"As long as you're here, you can make yourself useful," he says to his companion. "Take one of these pots and stack some of the stones in the bottom."

Orman looks around a bit awkwardly for a moment, then picks up a spare pair of gardening gloves from Will's bucket of supplies and attempts to join the work.

"Did you keep a garden at the Sanctuary?" Orman asks.

Will shakes his head. "No, not really. No time, back then. Life at the Sanctuary is never dull. But..." He trails off as his attention gets caught up in tracing a petunia vine to its end, deciding what leaves to keep and what to prune.

"But?" Orman places a pot laid with drainage stones on the far edge of the work table, then picks up an empty pot.

"Magnus kept an herb garden. In her bedroom window. I didn't even know about it for years. Not until I start-- not...until I'd been there a long time."

"In her bedroom? I would have thought her laboratory perhaps? Or her office?"

Will brushes at his forehead with his sleeve, wonders if he leaves a streak of dirt. He misses, sometimes, the dirt of field work. The feeling of pushing to his limits running through warehouses and alleys and sewers, coming home tired and bruised and dirty and sometimes victorious. Showering tired muscles and collapsing into bed spent and satisfied. _"Straight to the showers, all of you, don't you dare set one foot in my office."_ He shakes his head. "Not enough sun in the lab. And her office...no, the garden meant too much to her. It was part of...you see, Magnus's private rooms, they were...well they were different than the rest of the Sanctuary." He lowers the petunia plant into its new home and gathers dirt about the delicate roots. "They were her private haven, designed to nurture sides of her the rest of her environment neglected, I think. So...the garden belonged there, with her."

Orman places a pot in the waiting queue and starts on the next. "Understandable. I would imagine most of her life was structured more around what she could do for others, what she _wanted_ to do for others, than it was around what _she_ needed. Or what she...enjoyed?"

Will tosses Orman an appreciative glance, offers a simple nod of acknowledgement. "That's a fair assessment, yes," he says.

"Did you help tend her garden?"

Will stops mid-motion. In his peripheral view, he sees Orman staring intently at the pot in his gloved hands, not breathing. Will can't decide if the man intended him to hear every hidden meaning in his words, or if he didn't realize what he was saying until it was out of his mouth and is now trying to disappear through the floor.

Will decides to give the man the benefit of the doubt and take the high road rather than tax his brittle bones trying to throw the man off the balcony. "I watered her plants a few times when she had to be away for a while," he says. "Of all of Helen Magnus's gifts, gardening was not one of them." He returns his focus to his petunias.

They work for some time in silence, until Will declares it is time for lunch.

88888

"Magnus has been my friend from the beginning, not just my employer. So, my perspective on her is undoubtedly biased. But for all we've talked about, I don't want to give you the impression she was without her flaws." Will takes a bite of his sandwich and reaches for his glass of water. The doors of his rooms are still open onto the balcony, and the sweet breeze carries inside, bringing the scent of fresh earth and flowers. "Helen Magnus can be...a difficult person."

Orman lifts an eyebrow and Will thinks this is partly for show. Orman has likely picked up more of what lies between the words of his stories than Will is giving credit for.

"I would imagine a certain amount of...how should I put this...talent for intimidation...would be essential to her survival, in the life she chose for herself," Orman says diplomatically.

Will gives a wry smile and takes another sip of his lemonade. "That would be one way of describing it. And you're right, she has had to develop sides to her persona, her approach, purely for survival in her unique environment. Helen built and ran and developed the Sanctuary in times when women were not accepted in powerful professional positions. She had to prove herself at every turn, time and again. She couldn't be soft or lenient and earn the respect of her contemporaries. And sometimes she had to choose being feared or even hated over being liked if she wanted to keep the system moving forward for the greater good. That was a lot of it." Will pauses, returns his glass to the small glass-topped table, then says. "And some of it...was just Helen."

A voice calls out from the lawn below, and the squawk of a bird seems to offer a reply. Will fingers his glass and contemplates what words he might offer. These are concepts he has had no occasion to give voice to in a long time. "Any doctor, any surgeon, has to believe in herself more than your average person, or she won't be able to do what she does. You can't play God with people's lives if you doubt your choices at every turn. And when you make a mistake, try something and fail, and because of that someone dies...you can't fall apart. You accept the mistake, learn from it, and move on. That's the only mentality that works. But it can seem harsh to people outside that life. That said, I don't think Helen had to work very hard to cultivate such an attitude for her career...I think maybe she was born with it," he finishes with a brief sidewise glance at his companion, a hint of dry humor leaking into his tone. "Helen was always right until proven otherwise. And proven repeatedly."

Orman gives a soft chuckle and turns the page in his steno. He crosses his legs, brushes at a lingering haze of potting soil on his loafer. "She could be a strict boss?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. A strict boss, a strict doctor, a strict mother. You keep monsters in your house, you can't slack on rules. I won't lie to you, Helen Magnus has a hell of a temper, and it's no fun to be on the wrong end of it. She never let it compromise her sense of professionalism or cloud her course of action at the end of the day. But she could be very hard on Ashley and Henry. Hard on all of us, on occasion. She was perceptive, intuitive, and she knew just where to cut to hurt the deepest when she thought the situation warranted it. There were days when we all took the long way around the Sanctuary rather than risk passing her in the hall and falling in the line of fire. Not that I blame her for any of this. I can't even...begin to imagine the weight of the responsibility she has carried -- alone -- for longer than any human was even meant to be alive. There has to be a steam valve against the hardening of the shell. I don't know how long I'd been working there...not so long...when some of the others starting asking _me_ to be the go-between. The one to approach her and ask the questions or deliver the news they didn't want to try themselves. I think they were hoping that would be part of my job, as the team psychiatrist."

"And you didn't like that?"

Will straightens in his chair. "No, of course not. That would have been the opposite of my job. The team needed to be able to interact with Magnus directly at all times, work out their own relationships. And you _could_, she was always fair and reachable if you were willing to take a little heat to get to the bottom line. It's never healthy to depend on a liaison. It's like a child who never speaks directly to an intimidating father but always asks the mother to speak for him, present requests in the best possible terms without any need for direct interaction. If the mother is suddenly removed from the picture, the father and child find they have no real relationship at all. I certainly wasn't going to aid the development of that kind of imbalance. My job entailed assuring the mental health and functionality of the residents and employees of the Sanctuary."

"Clearly, you're good at what you do."

"I hope so. But that doesn't mean I didn't drag my feet when I had to tell Dr. Magnus the security systems had been down for three hours before we actually noticed," he offers with a grin.

"Oh, Dear God."

"Indeed. Not an afternoon I wish to repeat. But, seriously, Helen's...she is a good woman, a good person. Once she loves you, she loves you, and that never changes. We all understood that. She could be in the middle of ripping you a new one over something asinine you did in the field, and then you trip or cut your finger, and in a heartbeat she has a hand on your shoulder asking if you're all right. She's there. Even at her worst. You could see that watching Ashley stand up to her. Bark was worse than her bite, and all that, you know."

"I understand," Orman says simply.

"The Big Guy was pretty thick skinned. Literally and figuratively. He could talk her down sometimes, wasn't afraid to stand up to her when it was needed. He's one of the few," Will finishes with a smile.

"But sometimes you had to be the one?"

"Sometimes...yes." Will gazes off into the bright sea of light at the windows, letting echoes of a life dance through the sunbeams. "I remember one day," he begins, "my third or fourth year at the Sanctuary...Magnus had had crap coming at her from every direction since the crack of dawn. Nothing life threatening, on another day she might have just taken it all in stride, but on this day I think she ran out of patience with the human race before noon. To top it off, we had this abnormal...seemingly harmless little pig thing we'd had with us for a few weeks....and it was electric. It liked to chew on wires, and when it did it would get excited and send out these power surges that would short circuit and reroute things like you wouldn't believe. Usually it was confined in a custom habitat, so no big deal, but this one day it got out loose in the Sanctuary, we totally lost track of it, and it wreaked havoc with every system we had."

###

"Henry!" Magnus was shouting into the walkie as she punched at buttons on the security pad. The lockdown doors had dropped without warning.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Doc, I'm here." Henry's voice crackled through the walkie.

Magnus let go of the keypad and turned all her attention to the radio. "Henry, tell me what the hell is going on! What's the status of our security systems, why aren't my codes working?"

Will pulled back the last of the closed curtains, tucking the tails of the cloth behind a filing cabinet. They had only meant to be in this cramped and disused third floor room for a few minutes. A search for an ancient reference document to help them with their current crisis. The pig.

This latest development must have had something to do with the pig.

Henry's voice came back to them through Magnus' walkie. "Yeah...Doc, things are kind of...not so good here at the moment."

Will finished securing the curtains to let in the light, gazed through the lockdown bars, out the window to the lawn below. Sunlight spilled across the grass and he suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic locked in this tiny room and wished he could be out in the sun.

"Henry, you're going to need to be a _bit_ more specific." Helen's biting tone made Will cringe on Henry's behalf. He could feel the kinetic strain as Magnus fought to keep her words civil. She'd been strung like a nine day clock all morning, and the great pig escape had only escalated the tension.

"Okay, okay, I know," Henry babbled. "Uuummm...we've got...the SHU is secure, that's on a separate circuit. But general lockdown is in full gear, everything's latched itself, blast doors are down."

"Keep talking. General lockdown still accepts _my_ pass codes. I can't get out of here."

"I know that, Doc. You're gonna have to give me a little while to track this down."

Magnus sighed heavily and closed her eyes, letting the antenna of the walkie rest for a moment against her temple. "All right. Just...now, Henry. All right?"

"I'm on it."

Will moved over near the door, sliding his hands in his pockets as he watched Magnus work.

She tucked her walkie back in its holster and started trying to make some headway with the access panel. Which, for all his respect for her electronic capabilities, was unquestionably a futile task until Henry made some progress on his end.

"Magnus..."

"Dammit," she breathed. "I can't reach any of the...of all the rooms, I don't even have a terminal in here..."

He dared one step closer. She hadn't looked his way. "Magnus."

She dug her nail into the side of the security panel, apparently contemplating popping off the cover to mess with the internal wiring.

Will watched her for two more breaths, felt the waves of tension and anger wafting off her and settling on his skin. But he was nothing if not trained to keep his own equilibrium in the face of others' distress. And for the life of him he couldn't keep a smile from gracing his lips and a soft chuckle from escaping into the air between them.

Magnus snapped her head his way, daggers shooting from blue eyes. "You find this entertaining? You have any brilliant ideas?"

"Not one. But, come on, the SHU's all right, it's not like anyone's in deadly peril."

"Our security systems are presently out of our control. I'd say that has potential for quite significant danger."

"Henry will handle it, give him a chance."

She returned to her task of prying at the panel cover with a renewed fervor. "Henry has no idea what's even happened."

Will felt the anger directed at him, now, but he refused to take the bait. The situation was too ridiculous. "Oh, come on," he offered through a smile, "I mean...you get waked up by a wrong number from Yugoslavia asking for some guy named Elmo--"

"Vigo!"

"--the London Sanctuary gets hit by a plague of chicken pox -- and by the way, I had no idea so many abnormals were susceptible to the varicella virus -- The Big Guy accidentally scares the paper boy half to death, your tea cup explodes in the microwave, and now you're trapped in a storage room because an electric pig is running around inside your walls. A pig. You really need to step back and see the humor here."

"I do not." The panel casing cracked warningly and she dug in deeper.

Will persisted. "A pig. Snuffling its way through your walls, sucking on power cords." Will punctuated his point with his best pig snort.

He could have sworn Magnus almost smiled. "Will. If you don't mind, we really need to--"

He pig-snorted again. "Taking out an entire Sanctuary, just snuffling along, looking for a snack, like Arnold on 'Green Acres', did you ever watch that?"

"Will--"

He snorted once more, and Magnus choked on a laugh.

Will's eyebrows shot up and he pointed an accusing and gleeful finger. "OH! You laughed."

She turned his direction, her efforts to loosen the panel cover momentarily abandoned. "I did not! That was...a huff of incredulity at your unprofessional conduct."

"Oh, no, no, no. A very wise woman once told me," he flipped easily into her accent, "a laugh's a laugh."

Magnus glared at him like she was going to keep up the indignant fight, then a grin pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she said, "Okay, it's a little ridiculous."

Will's smile widened and a surprising warmth sparked between them.

With an exaggerated sigh, Magnus sagged against the wall, chuckled a bit more, and slid gracefully to sit on the carpet.

Will found a place across from her, propping his back against the side of a sturdy desk, legs stretched out to mirror hers. His ankles rested a short distance from her thigh.

Magnus closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall. "At least this place is never boring," she said.

"Oh, I'll definitely give you that. I learned that Day One when you gave me an office with something living behind the bookcase."

He won a genuine smile as Magnus lifted her head to meet his gaze.

They held eye contact for a long time. Magnus was a little flushed and tousled from the rush and the look well suited her. She was all elegance and power today. A fitted cream skirt and draping navy blouse. Hair pinned in a black jeweled barrette and earrings sparkling at the back of her jaw. The light from the window streamed through dust sparkles and drew elegant lines along her cheekbone. She ran a tongue over her lower lip and sucked it in between her teeth. "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice lowered at last to speak to a friend and not a co-worker. "I probably have been a little...difficult today."

Will quirked an eyebrow and watched her lashes shade her gaze. "Would I get fired if I said that was an epic understatement?"

"Possibly."

He fell into an easy smile and Helen lifted her gaze, encouraging the warmth between them. Will softened, and let the teasing go. "So, what's goin' on?" he asked simply.

Helen shook her head and wrinkled her nose. "It's nothing. No brilliant dramatic revelation. Sorry to disappoint. It's merely been...one of those days. Things have been hectic all week, I haven't slept properly. The grind. I don't know... Maybe I just need a--"

"Oh, my God! You're were going to say vacation!"

Magnus's eyes flashed indignity and the slight lethargy to her manner vanished. "I was not! I was going to say just a _break..._a little time--"

"Away? Like a _VACATION_.."

"Like an ordinary work day," she insisted, voice rising to clarify the point. "Without any extra chaos or mindboggling incompetence."

But Will was having none of this. He shifted his weight on the thin carpet, leaned in a bit. "No, no, no, no. You were gonna say vacation. Could it be it's been seven years? Are you due for that terribly extravagant _long weekend_ in your villa in Capri?"

Magnus drew a deep breath, held it in a moment, waging some sort of inner debate. Then she let go on a heavy exhale. "Perhaps I am," she said, hands settling in her lap and head dropping back to the wall once again. "To be honest, it sounds rather lovely right now. Bloody lot better than this storage room floor, I'll give it that."

"I should hope so, or you want your money back," Will joked.

"Oh, God," Magnus let go a tired breath. "I do hope Henry doesn't take long. Confinement is not something I do well."

"Really? I never would have guessed that."

Magnus tossed him a wry glance, and he surrendered his bluff. "I'm sure Henry'll have us out of here in no time."

She gave a soft murmur of assent, but her gaze had settled on her lap and she'd pulled into herself a bit.

Will contemplated her graceful line for a while, absorbing her body language, the subtle nuance and shallow breath. He'd been watching Helen Magnus for a long time. He hadn't begun to crack the codes. "How about a 20 questions kind of thing. Only more like truth or dare," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Questions. You know, to pass the time. We ask each other stuff we never have time to ask at work. Learn stuff about each other. Kind of like we do during our Morrocanfest nights."

Magnus narrowed her eyes skeptically.

Will lifted his hands like a white flag. "Hey, this was your game, if I recall. You can even go first."

She continued to study him, just long enough he started to feel the strain of the scrutiny. Easier to give than receive. Then she said, "When I first told you my real age, did you think I was crazy?"

Will couldn't suppress an incredulous laugh. "Are you kidding me? After everything I'd seen that week? Your brand of strangeness seemed downright boring by comparison."

Magnus eyed him with profound doubt.

"Okay, maybe not boring. But definitely in the realm of believable. Not that I had incorporated any of your world into my perception of acceptable reality yet at that point, but... No, I didn't think you were crazy. Although I think it crossed my mind at some point that maybe _I_ was."

She offered a sad smile and lowered her gaze. "Your turn," she said softly.

"My turn...umm...most reread novel?"

"Hmmm. _Rebecca, _Daphne Du Maurier."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's comfort food. I like the cliffs, the sea. And I like the way the story is all about Rebecca, when she isn't even there at all."

Will contemplated that for a moment, followed the threads and tried to understand what those words might mean to Magnus. In the end, he decided not to analyze, and let it go with a smile and a nod. "That's cool."

"What's yours?"

"My most reread?"

"Yes."

"Uhh...I'd probably have to say _The Catcher In the Rye_."

Magnus cocked her head and gave him a critical scowl. "That's a bit cliché for you, Will, isn't it?"

He nodded and let his gaze fall, weathering a small rush of self-consciousness. "Yes, it probably is. But what can I say, it speaks to me."

She watched him for a moment longer, then said gently, "Fair enough."

"Okay, my turn." Will leant back against the unforgiving desk and contemplated his prey for a while. He could easily ask another predictable question, and the answers were sometimes more revealing than first expected. But it wasn't often he was stuck in a confined space with Helen Magnus (and they weren't in danger of drowning or freezing to death), and he couldn't resist the temptation to up the stakes.

"Your turn?" she prompted.

"Okay, okay, I've got it. What were the three worst nights of your life? And deaths of loved ones don't count, because that would just be telling me what I already know, so..."

Magnus kept her gaze on her lap, hands clasped, her only movement a slight stroking of her palm with the opposite thumb. A long silence hovered before she said softly, "That's a very personal question, Will."

Will drew a breath, a rush of unwelcome heat burning his stomach. He watched the lines and flinches of Magnus's jaw. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think...You're right, I...you don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

Magnus gave a soft exhale through her nose. The barest hint of a mirthless smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Stay in my tower..." she said, soft words like a thought spoken aloud.

"What? Magnus?"

"Mmmm...the last private conversation James and I ever had. He said I'd...locked myself away in a tower. Never really opening up to anyone, anymore. He said I never contacted him for anything but business in recent years. And hardly ever even that. I brushed him off at the time, offering platitudes, thinking we'd have a real conversation when things settled down." Magnus shifted against the wall, re-crossed her ankles and straightened her skirt. Will was caught utterly off guard when he realized there were tears in her eyes. Two years since she'd knelt beside her dying friend in a collapsing catacomb, and Will had never again seen her cry for James Watson. "Too late," Magnus finished with a light shrug and a glance away.

_Jesus._ "Aw, Magnus..."

But she shook her head, brushing off the sympathy and blinking away the glimpse of moisture. "He was the oldest and closest friend I've ever had or ever will. And he thought I was closing him out. And he was right. I have closed off too much for too long now. " She looked up at Will, her gaze sincere and open to him. "It hurts less," she said. "But after a while...you're just too alone. And that's no good either."

"No. No, it's not. Magnus, I can't imagine what..."

"I know. Anyhow, the point is...and what Jimmy was trying to tell me...is that..." she paused, tilting her head and giving him a meaningful look to connect him to her next words, "...with the people I trust, I _should_ answer the personal questions as well."

Will nodded, letting that soak in. "All right. If you want to tell me, I want to hear."

Magnus offered a fleeting smile of something like gratitude, then returned her attention to restless fingers.

Will had drifted in the silence when she said abruptly, "The night I found out John was the Ripper."

Will clamped his jaw, forced his expression and voice to still. The woman knew how to cut to the heart of things.

Her gaze remained on her lap as she spoke. Will held his breath, afraid the slightest shift of air would burst the bubble of confession.

"At that time I loved him so completely. I've never loved anyone before or since like that. And to find out... You see, I was supposed to help him. Supposed to be his savior. And then he... I'd never trusted anyone like I trusted John. With all of me. And to see the sheer hatred, the...to see that...in _his_ eyes, toward me. I was so lost for a while. Everything I'd believed in just... just thinking of those bloodied hands all over my skin, I... "

Will closed his eyes to escape the image.

Magnus softened into a bittersweet smile and lifted her gaze. "James was my savior in the days after. And Nigel...dear Nigel and his box of draughts. And...as much as I'm sure _you_ won't believe it...even Nikola was at his best."

Will blinked. "Tesla. Was there for you."

Magnus grinned, caught in the warmer side of the memories. "Nikola would bring me flowers for no reason at all. Pick them up from the girl on the street, then simply show up at my door, out of the blue, and drag me out of the house by my sleeve, all propriety aside, take me down to the park for a spontaneous picnic or something. And we'd talk. And he'd make me laugh. Which, for a while, was something I thought I'd left behind."

"I am having so much trouble picturing this."

"You know there _was_ a reason we were friends in the first place. I mean...he was _always_ a pompous ass. Some things just are what they are. But...well, he has his points," she finished simply.

"If you say so. Okay, that's one. Number two?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Isn't this three questions?"

"You have a way out of here? Some pressing appointment?"

"Appointment, yes. Way out...no."

"Number two, then?"

Magnus exhaled and pulled her back up straighter, shifted the angle of her hips on the tiring floor, and Will thought fleetingly of how much her movements, her breath, had become an integral part of the landscape of his days. "All right," she began. "The second one...there was an abnormal I had to euthanize. A little girl. Sweet...sweet little girl. You see, she could...she could set people on fire. Send them up in flames in a heartbeat. An emotional reaction on her part, and she had next to no control at all. We tried fire proof suits, concrete rooms, freezers, drugs... But the protection was pointless, because she lit you from the inside out, and we couldn't find a single treatment to suppress her abilities. We lost...three staff members. One of them...someone quite close to me. And I can tell you Will, it's not a pleasant death, nor is it desirable to watch. I had no choice in the end, and I know it. I shouldn't even have resisted as long as I did. But the girl wasn't evil. She was actually quite kind. And perceptive. So young. No more than eight. So I did it. And _I_ had to do it. Not only because I would never ask my employee to take on a task like that for me, but because she trusted me. The others would have been in danger, she would have been suspicious. But not me. She trusted me implicitly. So I went into her room, and read her a story, and told her I was giving her something to help her sleep, help keep away the nightmares she'd been having." Magnus's voice quivered with her next words, "And she believed me."

"Oh, Christ, Magnus, you don't have to tell me this. I'm sorry, I should never have started..."

"I could have told you something else," she said, with an almost unnerving simplicity. "I want you to know."

Will took a moment to process this and saw the truth of her words. This was Helen Magnus. She would not be dragged anywhere she did not wish to be. If she hadn't wanted to talk, she would have shot him down. Will held her gaze, and gave a slow nod. "Okay."

"I stayed with her until she was gone. Then I walked out, ignored everyone, went straight to my private bath chambers, locked all the doors behind me, and threw-up."

Will felt ill. The room seemed claustrophobic, thick and demanding. He swallowed on a dry throat and wished for water. "That's...Magnus, I'm so sorry," he managed.

She nodded, didn't reply. When at last she spoke, hoarse threads dampened her voice to a tone he normally heard only in quiet bubbles of intimacy in the midst of a crisis. Staying awake on guard in the dark of the jungle, sitting by a friend's hospital bed for the first 24 hours after surgery. "You need to know what it can be like. What decisions you may face one day."

Will pulled one knee toward his chest and exhaled in a forced rush. "No. Magnus, I can't..."

"Don't. Just hear what I'm saying, and let it soak in. Over time."

He tried to speak, fell silent and draped an arm over his knee. The wind dropped out of his lungs.

Magnus nodded. She was studying him, and he would have given a year's pay to hear the thoughts tumbling behind her sky-blue eyes. There were moments he felt she existed on a plane separate from them all.

"You don't have to answer the third," he said, wishing he had never begun this game. Wishing for a thousand more questions and intimate confessions.

"Ashley told me she hated me."

Will's eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and he dropped his knee indelicately to the floor. "Oh, come on. Ashley loved you. She was devoted to you, everyone could see that."

Magnus offered a tired and tolerant smile. "I know. This was a long time ago. Ashley was only fourteen at the time. And she apologized the very next night, told me she hadn't meant it. Ended up in tears across my lap, actually. She felt nearly as bad about it as I did, I think. But you asked about my worst nights. And the night she said that...I knew she was a teenager, but... Well, nothing's ever hurt like that."

Will found it difficult to believe this was the third item on Helen Magnus's list of the darkest of the dark in a century and a half. A night of cliché teenaged angst. But the lingering ache in her voice left no question. He took a moment to shift gears, to move from the horrors of strategically killing a child, to the snap and crack of mother-daughter drama. "I imagine that must have been pretty bad," he offered, responding to the pain wafting off her skin as much as to her words. His thoughts raced to step into her shoes, process the evolution of feeling. "I mean...all those decades of doing all you could to keep her safe, taking such extreme measures just to preserve her life. Then you took a risk with your own life to try to carry such an aged fetus to term. Ashley was the only family you had left, or could hope to have for the future. Your only blood tie. To give so much love and then...to think, even for a moment, that it wasn't returned...that you might lose her...that's a hell of a lot at stake. A hell of a _sting_."

Magnus nodded slowly, a painful vulnerability in her eyes. "It was," she whispered. And for a moment, Will couldn't see the commanding leader of a global Sanctuary network, the cutting edge risk taker, the daring surgeon. On the storage room floor, speaking in soft tones of the beloved daughter she had cherished and lost, Helen Magnus was a grieving mother. Nothing more.

"Hey," Will said, and Helen's gaze flickered to his on an instinctive response. Will ignored the pleasurable ache in his chest. "I'm starving," he said. He reached out a hand and gripped her calf, squeezing reassuringly. "What do you say when Henry gets things up and running again and gets us the heck out of here, you and I go out and get some Thai food. Or maybe Italian. Your choice."

Only then did Will realize the inherent intimacy in the touch he had offered, in the placement of his hand. He had moved on instinct, offering comfort without reserve. But as he watched Magnus now, all he could see was easy acceptance of his offer. No reserve or reaction; no pointed glance, no uneven breath or shift of stance.

Her stockings were slippery silk beneath his fingers.

"By the time we get out of here, Will, I'll have six hours of work to do in two."

"You'll still have to eat."

"Maybe while I wor--"

"Magnus." Will let the silence stand between them, his gaze holding hers, thumb rhythmically stroking her skin.

She drew a soft breath through parted lips, let her gaze slide down his length and back. "Something nearby," she said, acquiescence in her voice.

Will smiled. "Wherever you want."

"You're buying."

"On what you pay me?"

She tossed him a glare that only widened his smile.

"Italian," she said.

"Italian it is, then."

Magnus straightened her posture and re-crossed her ankles, effectively dislodging his hand, and he pulled it back into his lap.

"My turn, again," she said.

Will narrowed his eyes as hers sparked with a renewed air of mischief.

"Tell me something _really_ embarrassing about yourself," she said. "Something like, you can't tie your own tie properly, or you still sleep with a teddy bear, or you're afraid of escalators."

"Afraid of escalators? What made you think of that?"

"Absolutely nothing, a random thought."

"Are you afraid of escalators?"

"This is _my_ question. Start talking. I want three things, actually, turnabout is fair play."

Will let his jaw drop in mock dismay. "_Three_?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "You have somewhere to be?"

"Touché. All right...uh...I can't ride a bicycle."

"What? A bicycle? Just an ordinary..."

He winced and lifted his knees, boots flat to the floor. "Yes, an ordinary bicycle. I tried, I can't do it."

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Nope. 'Fraid not."

Magnus narrowed her eyes and touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth. "You're telling me, that one of my team members can't ride a bicycle. Did no one ever teach you or...?"

"No, a couple of my foster families tried. Just didn't take. I can't do it."

"But you can ride a motorcycle."

"No pedaling."

"You do realize, we need to fix this."

"Why, you expect us to be chasing down a crazed cycling abnormal sometime soon?"

"I like my employees to be able to pilot all sorts of common vehicles, you never know what situation may arise, I just...I never thought to actually _ask_ about bicycles. At least not for humans. Hunh." She paused a moment, then, "Really? Not at all?"

"Your sensitivity is overwhelming, Doctor. No, not at all. And I have the scars on my elbow to prove it."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"What else?"

He wanted to protest the line of inquiry, but he knew he'd lost the right somewhere around euthanasia.

"Uhhhh....my handwriting is so bad, that when I filled out the application for my first driver's license, they misread my writing and typed in my name wrong, didn't even look at the birth certificate or anything to check. I didn't catch it before the license was printed, and then there was this whole long procedure required to document and change it, and I changed foster homes right after that, so I never got the chance to go through all the paperwork. So for the whole first year I was driving, I had to keep explaining to people I was not William Zitterman."

Magnus laughed out loud. He tried to look offended. Her voice was too beautiful.

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy it. Believe me, the humor's a lot harder to see when you're sixteen."

"I'm sure it is," she said, but her eyes still danced with a laughter he couldn't help but catch. "One more," she said sweetly.

He cleared his throat. "One more. Okay....uhhhhh...every year, I watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ on TV. And every year I get all sappy when all the Whos down in Whoville start singing anyway, even without all the presents and bows and the roast beast. Go ahead, laugh."

But she didn't. She just smiled softly, and said, "I love Christmas. You'd think it would wear down after a century or so, but...it doesn't."

Will held her wistful gaze for a long breath, then said, "Good to know."

They lingered in the sparkle of the moment for several beats, then Will said, "My turn."

Magnus gave a soft hum of annoyance, which he ignored.

"Tell me about...some secret treasure of yours."

"There is no pirate booty hidden in the Sanctuary."

"That's not what I meant. Not treasure to other people, treasure to you. Some object, material possession, something you keep that means a great deal to you, that you never tell anybody about. Like the ticket stub from your first date, or your beagle's baby teeth."

The room fell unnaturally quiet, and the electric currents wafting off Magnus's still form seemed to rival their pig friend's. Will watched long enough to realize she was debating something, and he wondered if in the end he would be offered a treasure of his own, or passed off with an easy reply.

Something more than electricity infused the air, that afternoon.

Without lifting her gaze, Helen slowly and deliberately edged back the collar of her blouse. With skilled fingers, she unfastened something just inside her bra, right where the strap met the silk cloth, and Will attempted to gracefully redirect his gaze. He failed. Magnus straightened her blouse, and silently held out the small object in his direction.

Fingers brushing hers, Will took the treasure and held it up to the dusty light. A ring. Gold and diamond. "Was this...your mother's? Her engagement ring?"

Magnus remained subdued, almost shy in her muted gestures. She shook her head. "No. I do have hers, it's in my rooms. But this...this one..."

The light dawned. Will met her gaze full on and said without question, "It's yours."

Helen bit the inside of her lip and gave a small nod.

Will lost his words.

He forced the breath into his lungs.

The radio crackled to life. "Doc?"

Magnus leaned forward and scrambled for the walkie at her hip. "Henry! What's going on?"

Will hadn't moved. He held the ring tight between thumb and forefinger, watching her with eyes wide as she transformed from Helen to Dr. Magnus before his eyes.

"Yeah, Doc, I think I've got security controls rerouted. I can't trigger the unlock from here, yet, but you should have access from the local panels. Can you give your pass code a try?"

"On it." Magnus rose to her feet, brushing at her skirt after the dusty floors. "Any luck tracking down our friend?"

"Only in the sense of following the disasters behind him."

She keyed in her pass code, and the familiar snap of the door release rang through the room.

Helen's head dropped back with a heavy sigh, and she tossed a relieved glance down to Will.

"You think our pig fell asleep somewhere?" he asked. "Piggy tummy full?"

Helen gave him a wry smile. "Entirely possible. It's still young, needs naps." Then speaking to her radio, "Henry, it worked, we're out."

"Awesome!" Henry replied.

Magnus popped the door open for reassurance, and a gust of fluid air rushed Will's nostrils. He shoved to his feet, legs stiff and cramped.

Magnus snatched up the file they had come up for in the first place and started out into the hall. "I need to get to the lab."

Will quickened his pace to catch up with her. "Whoa. Lunch."

Magnus gave a brisk nod, still half a pace ahead. "Yep. As soon as we find that pig."

"No!" He grasped at her elbow but she kept walking. "You said--"

"Will, we can't leave it loose! It shouldn't take much longer, we'll just organize a methodical search of the--"

"Helen."

She turned at the use of her given name, then slowed her steps as she met his gaze.

Will waited until he was certain she was with him. Then he held out the ring still pinched between his fingers.

Magnus caught her breath. Her gaze fluttered to his, then back to the diamond and gold. She took the small object from his fingers, her touch both warm and fleeting. Then she lifted her eyes to hold his for a long moment and gave a single nod of thanks.

There was more than a thank you for the ring. He wished he knew.

Will gave a nod of reply.

They were off.

#


	7. Chapter 7

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:** When this site recently stopped accepting character section breaks like rows of asterisks, it removed this essential formatting from all earlier chapters of this fic. This means the jumps from present time to flashbacks are no longer denoted, which makes reading extremely confusing..._sigh_. I am attempting to go back and fix all early installments with some kind of notation for breaks, but this hasn't happened as yet, and I deeply apologize. Please bear with me!

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "###". Traditional section breaks will use "88888".

Many thanks to Teddy E, Annie, and TaliaToEnnien for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 7:

_He knows everything has changed when he slips into her bedroom unannounced and she doesn't even turn her head. She is awake, lying flat on her back on top of the duvet, skirt and blouse still on, shoes forgotten on the floor, one knee raised enough to hike up her skirt._

_The change doesn't come with the first kiss, the first dance, the first time his hands venture beneath her blouse, or the first time they make love on the settee of her private drawing room. He is not so na ve as to think Helen Magnus hasn't taken lovers, indulged young men who charmed her, without ever surrendering her autonomy. Without bestowing her innermost trust._

_He has earned her faith, this he has known for many years. In recent months, he has earned her confidence in intimate confessions he never expected._

_But despite her words of affection, admiration, devotion, he hasn't been certain on which side of the fine line he stands, until he walks into her bedroom at four o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, and she doesn't say a word._

_Will moves slowly, purposefully, across the room, giving Helen ample time to shift away or take on a defensive posture if she desires._

_She closes her eyes, hair spread around her and pale throat exposed, and she doesn't move._

_Helen lies too close to the edge of the bed for Will to take a seat beside her, so he kicks off his shoes and crawls around her legs to sit beside her in the middle of the bed. He settles his hand over hers where her open palm rests on her abdomen. Her long length stretches gracefully the length of the bed, her head back on a single thin pillow. Her hip bones show a clear, enticing line beneath her skirt, and her blouse is unbuttoned just enough to make his mouth water as the silk stretches across her chest._

_That's not why he is here right now._

_"Hey," Will says, "Henry said you ducked out of the VTC. Said you weren't feeling well?"_

_Helen draws a breath through her nose. Their linked hands rise and fall with the movement. "The call was essentially done," she says simply._

_Will is unmoved. "Not feeling well how?" he presses. She doesn't reply, and he brushes the free strands of hair from her forehead. "Are you sick?" he asks, shifting his tactics, gentling his voice and the texture of his touch. "Are you coming down with something?" Her illnesses are rare, but not nonexistent. He touches the backs of his fingers to her forehead, her cheek. "Is it your stomach?"_

_Helen turns into his touch as his palm glides down her jaw, and he takes the hint without missing a beat. He cradles her cheek in earnest, his thumb caressing the soft skin below her lashes, the feathery hairs just tickling his skin._

_"Just feeling a bit ill," Helen whispers, voice soft and a bit fragile._

_"Talk to me," Will breathes._

_"Nothing to say. I haven't slept." Her eyes remain closed. "For a few days."_

_Will lowers onto his elbow and shifts his weight to his hip. He stretches out his legs, never moving his hands from Helen's stomach and cheek. He brings his face mere inches from hers. "Heeyy, lady. You haven't slept in that long? We haven't been that busy around here..."_

_She shrugs and her eyes flutter to meet his for a moment. He gives her all the warmth and patience he can find and tries not to get lost in a century of blue._

_"It's been a hard week." Her voice is small. Too small for Helen Magnus._

_Will lets his hand shift to stroke her stomach. He follows the gentle concave flow of her midriff, the 'V' of her ribcage. She sniffs and turns onto her side, pulling her knees toward his chest and curling into him. Her body language seeks comfort, and he hears every word._

_Will settles on Helen Magnus's pillows and urges her into his arms. "Come here." She melts, gives, molds. She navigates on touch alone, eyes closed and lips wordless. He thinks of an infant moving with his mother in the night, seeking out food and shelter and the security of life._

_Helen rests her head in the crook of Will's shoulder, drapes a leg across his and tucks her toes beneath his opposite calf._

_He knows she has neglected some essential information in her confession. Knows he will have to pry the deeper story out of her. Later. For now, she is deeply exhausted, and she is no longer pushing him away as she has for...more than a decade. She is tangled in his arms and holding onto a bit of his sleeve in a gesture that pulls at his heart with unexpected torque._

_Will listens to her breath and studies her vanity dresser on the wall past the foot of the bed. Neat rows of bottles and barrettes and bangles and trinkets that are a lifetime of experience and Helen all over._

_The sun falls low and casts long shadows across the floor. The muscles of Helen's shoulder and upper arm through the blue silk of her blouse hold Will's attention for long minutes of gentle exploration. Her flesh quivers beneath his touch and he places a lingering kiss on her forehead._

_Helen's breath is uneven for a while, then slows, settles into a steady rhythm. He feels her muscles slacken, giving in to the desperate need for rest at long last. Her fingers keep hold of the cloth of his sleeve. He is shocked when this simple observation nearly makes him cry. He thinks he has wanted to be someone's anchor...someone's family...for far too long._

_Will falls into slumber not far behind the woman in his arms. Helen wakes after almost two hours, shifting and burrowing against his side, groggy and flushed and without armor. He loves her so much it hurts._

"Helen?" His eyes snap open, pained at the brightness of the afternoon light. He feels her warm body strong against his own, her shampoo tickling his nose. The sleep-flushed texture of her skin lingers on his fingers. Will rolls his head to his right, toward the comfortable weight on his shoulder...and finds an empty bed.

He swipes a heavy hand down his face and listens to the breeze through the open patio doors and the hum of his bedside clock. Whispering Pines. He is almost surprised when he looks down at his own hand and finds age has taken its toll.

When he hears the noise again, he realizes this must be what woke him. A sharp rap on his door. Orman has arrived for their afternoon visit.

He pushes the half read book off his chest and stumbles to the door.

88888

Books are spread across the tabletop, stacked in groups on the surfaces of chairs. Will has been sorting and organizing his collection.

"Have you never heard of electronic readers?" Orman asks with an amused grin, fingers on a dusty binding.

Books are rarely printed these days, but Will's home remains lined with yellowed pages and leather bindings. He rides into town once a month for the used book bazaar. He shoots his companion a wry look. "I have kept up with the passing decades, yes, thank you very much. I do read electronic books. But I prefer a few of the old fashioned kind around as well."

"A few?" Orman teases with a glance around the disappearing sitting room.

"Perhaps more than a few," Will concedes with a soft note of playfulness. "Find all the Dickens from that pile, would you?" he asks with a vague gesture toward the foot of his bed. He is again going to put his guest to work if he is to pay in stories.

Will takes a seat on a low stool by the bookcase and buries his nose in a dust-coated pile of psychology references, attempting to alphabetize by author (he swears the books were in order at some point, but he doesn't know if his own sloppy habits or the cleaning lady shuffled the system). He has lost himself in bindings and words when he hears Orman draw a surprised breath.

Will lifts his head. "What?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just...the book fell open to an inscription." Orman takes a step nearer and holds a worn leather volume down toward Will, book still open to the title page. Will takes the book into his lap with careful hands. He angles the page toward the light and adjusts his glasses to focus on the slightly faded ink and flowery scrawl. He knows the hand too well, and he finds it sends a half-pleasant warmth through his stomach.

_To My Dearest Will~ May these pages bring you many comforting hours by a warm fire._  
_Merry Christmas!_  
_All My Love,_  
_Helen_

Will gazes at the words for long moments, only looking up when Orman asks in an almost hesitant voice, "Is that...that's her writing?"

Will gazes at Orman for a long moment, the sun from the patio doors lighting his companion's dark eyes and warming his skin. He cannot suppress a wistful smile at the note of wonder in the man's voice. Orman speaks as though they have stumbled across a national treasure, a presidential letter or something worthy of placement in a museum. "Yes," Will says with an indulgent smile. "This was a gift from Helen."

"May I ask how long ago? I didn't see a date..."

Will gave a soft chuckle. "I can't remember precisely. Helen didn't always like to date things. Sometimes, she _needed_ to, more often than other people, because there was just so much more time to choose from. But other times...I think she didn't want to be tied to numbers arbitrarily assigned to years. Helen Magnus doesn't stick to time the way the rest of us do." He carries the thought further in his head, but lets the details remain silent.

The two men hover on unspoken thoughts as the dust they have stirred up swirls and dances in the streaks of light.

"I could use a lemonade break," Will says at last. He takes hold of the edge of the table and levers himself to standing. He sees Orman's arm move uncertainly as he attempts to offer a hand. Will ignores the gesture and forces his knees to obey his own command.

"I can't imagine how strange it must have been for her...watching the generations pass," Orman says thoughtfully as Will steps past him toward the kitchenette.

"Exactly," says Will. "We can't imagine. We never will. Helen could never relate to others by any traditional paradigm you or I could understand."

"Yet, she needed those relationships, as you've already said. Just like anyone else."

Will turns back to meet Orman's steady gaze before stepping through the archway to the kitchen. "Yes," he says simply. "Yes, she does."

The younger man slips past Will in the narrower confines of the kitchenette and says softly, "Please. Allow me." The man has been here enough times to know the essential routines. He sets to work retrieving glasses for lemonade and plates for cookies, and this time Will leans on the door casing and lets himself be served.

"Magnus had to learn to function outside the rules of society under which even she was raised," Will continues. "Relationships are a thing of the present moment for her, ever shifting, ever changing. She might know someone as a child, then years later know him as a lover, and in his elder years he might be more of a treasured uncle or a father figure. And she couldn't allow the taboos and sensitivities of those who maintain a traditional place in society's structures influence her choices. She didn't have that option. By the same token, she didn't look at people with the same sense of...societal expectations as others. She just saw _people_. She would see the same person inside the girl and the old woman, and the phases of life wouldn't color her views like they might yours or mine. She has seen too many people travel the full arc of their journey while remaining a part of her life."

Orman nods, absorbing the words as he prepares the refreshments. He picks up the glasses and Will reaches out to take them, freeing Orman to carry the plates out by the fire.

"I can't imagine the energy that kind of existence must require."

Will takes a seat and places the glasses on the table before the hearth. "The demands are unfathomable. But why do you say that?" he asks, wanting to know what is being heard and understood and what is being surmised.

Orman takes his own customary chair and shifts the throw pillows to support his back. He takes a sip of his drink. "I only meant that...it's hard enough for a person to let go of the past in one lifetime, to accept the changes, lose loved ones, watch children grow, never again to be those little creatures you loved. I can't imagine...doing such a thing over and over in a never-ending cycle. The energy and resilience required..." he fades away, gazing into the gentle afternoon flames and imagining a life beyond his realm.

"She did get...tired, sometimes," Will says.

_"Hey, sleepyhead."_

_"What time is it?"_

_"Late. We slept a while." The sun has all but fallen and the room gone dim and quiet. A blue-lit nest in her fashioned stone palace. "Did you rest?" he asks._

_"Mmm. Yes. But we should be up. It's nearly dinner, I didn't mean to..."_

_"Dinner's not going anywhere. Give yourself a few minutes," he says, fingers tangling in her hair, lips tickling her scalp. He tightens his arm around her shoulders._

_Helen sighs against him and relaxes into the curves of his body, surrendering a moment more. Which tells him just how exhausted she is._

_"Promise me you'll come back to bed early tonight," Will breathes, voice low and firm without a trace of accusation. "Don't just use this little bit of sleep as an excuse to stay up all night."_

_The tension creeps back into her muscles and tendons in shivers and insidious ripples. She holds her silence for several breaths, head on his chest, rising and falling with his own rhythm. He expects a careful evasion or a meaningless reassurance before the subject is firmly dismissed. What he doesn't expect is the timidly whispered, "Would you sleep in here tonight?"_

"Where did she find the energy to start again? What was her source, her focus?"

Will eyes his guest curiously. The question is fervent, intimate and insightful, and Will is again impressed by his companion's depth of perception.

"Life," Will says at last. "Life itself never ceases to be beautiful, enthralling. And sooner or later...that beauty...finds its way inside you. Again."

Orman hears the significance of the offering and accepts the gift with reverent silence. Will takes a bite of almond cookie, and Orman follows suit.

"I remember one night," Will begins, "it still stands out in my mind so vividly...funny which days choose to stick in your mind and which ones are lost to time. I had been at the Sanctuary...oh, maybe ten, twelve years at the time, maybe more... We had been marathoning a wrestling match through the Sanctuary since dawn, dealing with one of the many crises that keeps life at the Sanctuary from _e_ being boring. There were these things Magnus called Neopods, these creatures that...well, that's not important...anyway, we had all finally gathered for a meeting in Magnus's office, trying to wrap things up and get the hell out of there for the day. Out of work, at least, it's not like most of us ever _left_. But we were on our last threads of patience that night, exhausted and hungry. And Magnus was going over the last lab reports from Tesla..."

###

"Nikola, you're positive the electrical shields will hold, this isn't something to which the creatures might yet adapt?"

Tesla clicked his tongue, cocked his head in Magnus's direction. "Are you doubting my expertise, Helen?"

Magnus lifted an eyebrow from her presiding position in the arm chair and pinned her friend with a commanding gaze. "I'm asking if you've considered all the possibilities. These creatures have done nothing but surprise us for days. Need I remind you what happened last month with the fire slugs, when you insisted the water would-"

"Yes, yes, yes, we've all heard that story," Nikola dismissed Helen's admonishment, brushing imaginary lint from his slacks and straightening his posture.

"My eyebrows are fine, now, thanks for asking," Will interjected.

"All right!" Helen silenced them. She had yet to snipe at any of the staff without valid reason, but they could all feel the taut wire holding her impatience at bay and expected to be the victim of that thread's snap at any moment. "If that's settled, then I want a full detailed report on the metabolic reactions of the creatures to the electricity. Tomorrow, please, Nikola," she added at the look of protest on Tesla's face. "Will, you've spoken to New York about taking on some of our new friends?"

Will nodded and hitched up his glasses. "I did, and Kate has the email we got this morning." Helen snatched the printed letter from Kate's outstretched hand. "They say they're still finishing up the renovations on the small creature habitats, but they should be ready to bring in new residents by the end of the week," Will finished.

Helen gave a nod of acknowledgement as she scanned and absorbed the email. "All right. I guess we wait." She dropped the letter into the file folder in her lap. "Kate, what's the damage report on the upper floors?"

"We've got our guy coming to give us a repair estimate first thing tomorrow morning. Right now, we're looking mainly at just some drywall repair, maybe a few new bits of wire. Oh, and one window needs new glass."

"A window? How long was it open? Has it been covered for the night?"

"I'm not sure how long it was out, but the Big Guy said he'd take care of it for tonight."

Helen gave a mildly irritated sigh, but said only, "All right. Mark, what about security?"

The newest member of their staff looked a bit startled at the direct address and straightened his posture on the couch, shuffling papers clearly for show. "Uhhh...we're 5 x 5 as far as I can tell."

"As far as you can _tell_?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but Mr. Foss has the full report, he said he'd bring it to you later tonight. He's assured me we're safe and sound for the time being."

Magnus held the young man's gaze for a long moment, and Will couldn't help but wonder if this were more a test of his stamina as much as a search for further information. "Fair enough," Magnus conceded. "So, that leaves...," she consulted the notes in her lap once more, "...the squid. Here I'm open to suggestions, if anyone has an idea how we might-"

But Magnus never finished her sentence. The study doors blasted open, and a four year old boy with a mop of dark hair and the most striking hazel eyes Will had ever seen barreled into the room in a whirl of sound and flapping limbs. "Auntie Helen, Auntie Helen!"

Mark Petrie, who had been at the Sanctuary for less than two months, fell wide-eyed and silent, radiating panic on the part of the small child making a beeline for a tired and overtaxed Magnus. But Will only smiled and exchanged a knowing glance with Kate.

Young Jacob launched himself bodily at Helen, as she deftly moved her file folders out of the way with one arm and caught the boy across her lap with the other. Kate leaned forward and took the paperwork from Magnus's hand, placing it safely on the coffee table.

"Auntie Helen!" Jacob shouted once more as Helen flipped the boy right side up to lay cradled across her lap.

"Hello, my Little Prince," Helen said through an adoring smile, her voice all warmth and sweetness, the stresses of the day set aside in a heartbeat.

Will tossed a glance at their newest team member and watched the wonder with which Mark observed the about-face in their boss's demeanor.

"Auntie Helen, look! Look, look, look!" The boy held up a toy train car no more than an inch from Helen's nose.

Helen gently took the tiny wrist in her fingers and backed up the train enough for her to see. "What have you got here? My goodness, isn't that lovely. Is this a new one?"

"It _is_ new!" Jacob squealed. "Daddy just got it for me at-"

A breathless and disheveled Henry stumbled through the open door. "Jake! Aw, what are you doin' to me, man? Doc, I'm so sorry he just-"

"Henry..."

"I was right behind him, I swear, and he just took off and made a run for it. I told him he couldn't see you until after-"

But Helen only shook her head dismissively, her attention on the boy in her lap and the train car their fingers were tangled upon as Helen tested various wheels and flippers under youthful guidance. "That's quite all right, Henry." Her tone brooked no apology.

Henry took a few slower steps into the room, straightening his posture and recovering his breath. "Kid's got some good legs on him."

"Did you dash away from your father?" Helen asked the squiggly bundle in her lap, narrowing her eyes in unconvincing disapproval.

Jacob merely touched his forehead to Helen's with a feisty grin and whispered. "I did!"

"You know that is not proper," she said with only slightly more conviction to the admonishment.

The boy giggled and launched himself at Helen's shoulder, wrapping his arms around her neck in a loving embrace. Helen hugged the child to her with the easy subconscious movement of a long time mother and looked up at Henry. "Far too much like his father," she said, and the smile in her eyes told Will she was greatly enjoying watching Henry suffer the other end of the job at last.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Doc," Henry muttered, feet shuffling as though he were the boy again. "Jake just said he wanted-"

"Story!" Jacob shouted, arching back to gaze up at his beloved Auntie. "Will you read my bedtime story?"

Henry reached out a hand and nudged his son's shoulder. "Come on, Little Man, Aunt Helen can't do it tonight. I'll read you a story, Jakey, come on."

"Auntie Helen does all the best voices," the boy pleaded, offering Helen an almost comically perfect puppy dog expression. Will couldn't suppress a chuckle.

Helen lifted an eyebrow, well aware of the child's practiced manipulative abilities, but utterly susceptible to them nonetheless. "I do, do I?" she challenged.

"Yes!" Jake asserted willfully.

Henry stepped in with more authority. "It's all right, Doc. I'll take him up to bed. Come on, man-"

But Helen continued as though Henry had not spoken. "I tell you what, my Little Prince. You go upstairs with your father, brush your teeth, get into your pajamas, and I shall finish up here, and be upstairs in time to read you one story before you go to sleep. All right?"

"Doc, you don't have to-"

"Yes!" Jake shouted.

"All right. Off you go," Helen said, giving the boy a quick kiss on the forehead and nudging him off her lap.

Henry took his son's hand, then gave Magnus a lingering glance over his shoulder. She held his gaze, and Will could feel the warmth spreading between them. For a moment, he forgot about the Neopods in the basement and the holes in the walls and the security protocols and let himself feel pure gratitude that these people were his. This was his family. He had not been the new guy for a very long time.

Magnus let her gaze fall, and Henry escorted his son from the room. Magnus snatched her folders from the table and without preamble began asking her staff for ideas regarding neurotic glow-in-the-dark squids.

###

"What a lovely memory," Orman says, the look in his eyes showing the lack of condescension that comes to a man who has known the simple joys of parenthood. "The boy had become a part of her family, then?"

"Oh, very much so. For all of us. You see..." Will sank deeper into his chair. He took another sip from his crystal glass and allowed time for the right words to find his tongue. "Magnus had always been especially conscious of the younger abnormals. She maintained a certain professional detachment, of course, but she took them all into her care. Like...a house full of foster children, in a way. But after we lost Ashley...well, we all saw the difference. Helen kept the young residents at arm's length. She was kind and caring and she saw to it that all of their needs were met. But she was...there was a distance that hadn't been there before. And then...Jakey was born. And Helen tried to maintain her distance, I know she did. But the first time those little fingers curled around hers...she was head over heels in love with that little boy. She would have done anything for him. And we were all glad to see that happen. Glad to see her...letting that happen."

"I didn't realize Mr. Foss had had children."

"Only Jacob."

"And did Jacob come to work at the Sanctuary?"

"Oh, yes. But not in tech like his father. He's a scientist, worked with the habitats in the London Sanctuary for years. He grew up on Magnus's lab coat tails like a miniature assistant," Will said with a wistful smile.

"Oh, dear. Became her shadow, did he?"

"Oh, yes. Not that he wasn't Henry's boy through and through. Henry was an amazing father, and he and Jacob shared everything. But Helen was definitely part of Jacob's upbringing. She was almost a second parent. A grandmother, if you will, though I tried that word on her once and almost never survived the backlash."

Orman indulges a gentle laugh. Then as the humor fades, "I would imagine taking the boy into her life, took its toll, even as it healed."

"At times," Will allows.

Voices carry in from the hall, and the conversation seems to pause as they wait for the other residents to approach and then pass.

"When Jake was about 2 years old," Will says softly, "he got sick. His fever just...skyrocketed. And Magnus couldn't figure out what was going on. We didn't know that much yet about Jake's physiology. His mother was human, so he was his own unique combination, an original. Henry didn't leave Jake's bedside for three days, and Helen was on her feet nearly as long. Working with a single-mindedness of purpose...rare in its intensity, even for her. And that's saying something. But by the end of the third day, she hit on a treatment that seemed to finally get to the heart of the infection. And Jacob's fever broke. None too soon. We were all getting pretty scared, he was one sick little boy for a while. He was exhausted for days afterward, of course, but once the right drugs were getting into his system, his vitals stabilized and he started to heal. The third night was the turning point. And once Jake was peacefully sleeping with an IV drip in his arm, Kate and The Big Guy stepped in and insisted Helen and Henry get some rest while the others took a shift. Henry just took the next bed in the infirmary and pretty much passed out, and Helen...well, we thought she went back to her rooms, but when I went to look for her an hour later, I couldn't find her anywhere. I tracked her down in one of the private libraries on the upper floors...and she..."

Will's words stumble and fall to silence.

Orman cocks his head and furrows his brow in silent entreaty.

Will moves his mouth, but doesn't speak. At last he shakes his head. "She had a hard time with it all," he finishes lamely. And the untouched moments move around the two men like restless shadows.

Orman gives a simple nod and looks at his hands where they lay still in his lap.

When the silence stretches, Will at last offers awkwardly, "Do you...do need some more lemonade?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Orman says politely. "In fact, I...I promised a friend I would meet him for dinner tonight...while I'm in town. The time has flown faster than I thought. I had probably best be getting back to my hotel to get ready. I believe the restaurant is a bit of a drive away."

Will snaps out of his lingering reverie and lifts his gaze to Orman, taking a moment to playback and process the man's words in his mind. "Oh...oh, well, then...don't let me keep you." Will is aware there is probably no friend, no restaurant. But he is suddenly welcoming the notion of a few hours to himself, so he lets the excuse stand.

Orman rises to his feet, and Will does the same and walks his guest to the door.

"You will be coming by tomorrow?" he asks, not wanting to leave the man with the impression he has overstayed his welcome. Will feels there are more stories to tell. He doesn't know why, only knows that it is somehow...time.

The younger man's eyes brighten with a genuine spark and a hint of a smile. "If you would welcome it," he says softly.

Will nods with a small, genuine smile. "I would. Shall we say 10?"

"10 would be fine."

The men shake hands and then Will is alone in his rooms, listening to his new friend's footsteps retreating down the hall.

He takes a jacket from his coat tree by the door, and moves out onto the balcony and into the bright, crisp air.

###

Will's legs ached from walking, and he had nearly decided to return to Magnus's rooms, see if she had settled there in his absence and they had been chasing one another in futile circles, when he caught sight of a faint glow emanating from a doorway at the distant end of the hall. On this top floor, the rooms were not officially Helen's private quarters, but they were generally regarded as Helen's home and not common spaces. Will moved down the dim hall to the glowing doorway and found himself gazing into a narrow private library where a single lamp burned at an empty desk. Helen was an almost invisible form curled in the corner of a sofa on the far side of the room.

"Hey. There you are," Will said softly, making his way into the room.

Helen had been watching him from the shadows, must have known he was approaching since he started down the hall. She didn't reply, but nodded. Her feet were tucked beneath her and a large afghan wrapped around her shoulders and legs.

"I was starting to think you'd disappeared on me."

She sniffed softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right," Will offered easily. He pushed an ottoman in front of the sofa and took a seat across from her, knees just brushing her legs.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. And he knew she meant Jacob. And Henry. But her voice sounded so bone-weary it was hard to listen to.

"Yeah." His words softened in reflection of her mood. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee, massaging her tired muscles through age-worn cloth. "Everybody's fine."

"That's good." Her words rang genuine and hollow in harmony. "I'm sorry to worry you, I just...I needed to get away for a few minutes. It's...been a long week."

"Of course," Will said, like hers was the most natural response in the world.

"Is Henry sleeping?"

They were so far away from everyone else in the Sanctuary, this place was almost private even with the open door, and Will found the intimacy and peace a welcome contrast to the tension of the preceding hours. Books and candles and soft blankets draped the room, and he understood why Helen had sought refuge here.

"Henry's out cold. And Big Guy's planted on a chair for the night, right between Henry and Jacob. Kate's been making snack runs and hanging out in the corner with her MP3 player. They couldn't be in more capable hands."

Helen nodded, but her expression didn't change. The tension in her brow drew lines and shadows by dim lamp light.

Will fished her hands from the folds on the blanket and covered them with his own. "He's all right, Helen. He's all right," he repeated firmly.

She bit her lip. "Yes. He is."

Will held his breath for a moment, then he slid down to kneel on the rug before her and spread his hands wide to grip her thighs. He spoke to her as much with his eyes as with his words. "Are _you_?"

Helen tried to reply, failed, caught her breath, and her eyes blurred with tears that deepened the blue and reflected the golden light. "He's just..." She spread her hands before him, fingers open in a gesture of utter helplessness as though some invisible treasure had slipped through her grasp. "He's still _so small_."

Will closed his eyes and leaned closer. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

Helen caught a trembling breath, and brushed at the first tears to slip down her cheek. Will reached up a tender hand and freed her hair from its fastener, let her disheveled locks fall free about her face. The kindness in the gesture broke the last of Magnus's walls and she shaded her eyes and let herself cry.

Will climbed onto the couch, shifting Helen until he sat with his back to the arm rest and her warmth nestled against his chest. "You saved him," he breathed into her hair. "You did it."

Her reply was barely a whisper in the silence. "I thought I was going to lose him. I honestly thought..." Her words fell to a rush of hushed sobs against Will's chest. Her tears soaked through his t-shirt and clung to his skin.

Will cradled Helen closer, cupped a protective hand to her head. He tucked the blanket close around her shoulders and sank deeper into the sofa cushions, offering himself as a bed of warmth. "Hush," he whispered. "Rest. You're exhausted."

She hadn't changed for bed. Her shoes were gone, blazer lost. He slipped a hand beneath the blanket and untucked her blouse. He unsnapped the waistband of her slacks, freed the fastener on her bra. Will felt the instinctive softening of her muscles as the bindings were freed. He smoothed his hand up and down her back, working the cords and knots beneath his fingers. He kept up his slow steady motions, smoothing her hair and cradling the back of her neck. Her breath caught in unexpected starts, but her tears slowed. He had almost let his own muscles slacken a bit, drifted in the drowsy haze, when she gave a sharp sniff and he felt a renewed tension shimmer through her body. Helen pushed against the sofa to leverage several inches up his body. She buried her face in the side of his neck and hooked a hand beneath his shoulder to hold on with greater intensity. She was shaking.

"Ssshhh...heeeyy..."

She didn't speak. He held on.

Eventually they slept. They slept a few hours on the library sofa. Then Will nudged her into semi-consciousness in the soft light and walked her, blanket still wrapped around them, back to her room.

He wouldn't leave. Not this night.

88888


	8. Chapter 8

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:** When this site recently stopped accepting character section breaks like rows of asterisks, it removed this essential formatting from all earlier chapters of this fic. This means the jumps from present time to flashbacks are no longer denoted, which makes reading extremely confusing..._sigh_. I am attempting to go back and fix all early installments with some kind of notation for breaks, but this hasn't happened as yet, and I deeply apologize. Please bear with me!

All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.

DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)  
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)

Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "###". Traditional section breaks will use "88888".

Many thanks to Teddy E, Annie, and TaliaToEnnien for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!

Special thanks to Geonn Cannon and tigerlilybrown for the Grimalkin (Felis Praedatorius).

This chapter also adds a certain aspect to the mythology for which Geonn Cannon deserves partial credit. Further notes at the end of this chapter.

**INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE **  
by  
Rowan Darkstar  
Copyright (c) 2010

Chapter 8:

_"Your hair is the softest I've ever felt," he says, dark curls spreading through his fingers._

_Her smile is indulgent and warm and her gaze lowers and her lashes are dark._

_He knows dozens of men have taken this role, stood in this place he stands. He knows these other men have had more money, better looks, more charm, more exciting lives, or more power. But she makes him feel like the others don't matter in the moment. Like he deserves the attention she grants._

_But he asks her one night, when the insecurity of a boy who could never stay in one place long enough to believe he was loved dances to the forefront. He lies beside her in the half dark, listens to her soft sigh as she snuggles into her silk-covered pillow, and he says, "How could you want me?"_

_"What?" Her voice is so soft, hoarse and gentle, like fingertips brushing his arm._

_His stomach feels too hot and tight, and he wants to melt in the shadows, disappear, but he's started this and he can't stop or the words will eat at him until he can't open to her anymore. He owes her honesty above all else. "After all the men you've known, all the...unbelievable things you've seen. Staying up all night talking to geniuses of their time, watching inventions happen right in front of you that will change the world. World renowned musicians writing songs for you, scientists, politicians, billionaires...Helen, what the hell am I doing here?"_

_She is quiet for a long time. Another woman would have rushed to reassure him, never let him wait in silence. Helen Magnus is not "another woman". "Are you asking if you're a casual diversion?" she says. "The entertaining pool boy? You know better than that."_

_"I'm not asking what I'm not. I'm asking what I _am."

_"Nikola Tesla changed technology for all time," she says abruptly, and he takes a beat to catch up. He takes a lifetime to catch up. "He's one of the most brilliant men I have ever known," she continues. "And he's a self-centered bastard, with a tiny bit of good buried somewhere so deep inside you need a microscope to find it. Mostly a bastard."_

_"He's your friend."_

_"Yes, very much so."_

_"So, he-"_

_"Musicians only think you're beautiful while you're inspiring their work. When you lose your shine, they lose interest and move on."_

_"Helen, I'm not-"_

_"Politicians want things bigger than love. They may love you, but you will always ultimately take second place to ambition."_

_"I'm not asking you to tear down every other man you've ever known. That will never ring true, Helen. We both know there have been amazing and good and loyal men that you have loved." He leaves no room for argument._

_She takes this in stride. Like so much else. And some nights her composure infuriates him. "Yes. There have. And I make no apologies. But their money and talent and intelligence didn't determine their loyalty or kindness or their worth to me. Those qualities are entirely separate. Intriguing, entertaining, of course, but not the heart of things. Some of my most treasured friends...lovers...were also brilliant, or powerful, or talented, or well-travelled, and those qualities were a lovely and charming bonus. But they weren't the reason I loved. Some of my most treasured friends were nothing particularly brilliant on the outside, but something wondrous to me within. People are people, Will, in all walks of life. None of it is so different as you think. Love doesn t make sense. Ever. If I've learned one thing in all my years, it's that. You can't explain why one person over another makes you feel loved, safe, beautiful, in your proper place. It's not as though I'm the easiest person to love. I am a bit of an undertaking, I believe."_

_The soft smile in her voice, the self-deprecating teasing, pulls at the familiar softness between them, but he can't let go and smile with her yet. Reality holds him too firmly to darker ground._

_Helen moves closer, but still doesn't offer the predictable or placating touches another woman might fall back upon. "You are here, Will, because when I crawl into bed beside you, I feel as if...for a little while everything might be...all right. As though maybe I have nothing to prove. That when you say you'll stay...no matter what...that you actually...might. Because you fought for me when I was crazy. When I was high on an ozone beetle and frightened and paranoid, and I threw myself into your arms...you caught me. And you never stopped fighting for me. You're a good man, Will. And that's...more rare and precious in this world than you may ever realize."_

_"I'm not amazing. I'm full of flaws, just like anyone else."_

_"I know. I live with you. And you drive me crazy half the time. But that doesn't take away from the good."_

_He can't find more words to capture the spinning emotions and he lets go of the effort on a heavy sigh._

_She waits through the quiet with unnerving patience._

_When she does touch, it means the world. She rolls on top of him without giving him so much as a breath to pull away. She props her forearm on his chest and meets his gaze in the moonlight with all the power and intensity of the woman who is Helen Magnus._

_Her hand moves to cradle his cheek, and her touch is as much maternal as it is seductive and he has never understood how she so seamlessly blends the two. "You are here," she says, and he hears the first heartbreaking whisper of tears in her voice, "because loving you...is worth the inevitable loss."_

_He closes his eyes and breathes her. "I'm sorry," he whispers._

_She doesn't want to hear it. She never does. She makes sure his words are forgotten in sensation._

88888__

"Do you know...why she dyed her hair dark?"

Will blinks at the man on his balcony, certain the man has spoken words, but unable to translate their meaning. "I'm sorry? What was that?"

"Dr. Magnus's hair. It was blonde, when she was young. Do you know...why she dyed it black?"

Will tightens stiff fingers around the balcony railing and gazes out at the lawn dotted with residents soaking in the afternoon sun. "She doesn't dye it," he says.

"She doesn't...what do you mean? Is it a...a wig, or...?"

"Oh, no, no, no. It's her hair. It's just dark."

There is silence beside him for a long moment, and Will lets it stand. He's still reacclimating to the present, caught on the gliding wings of memory. '_God, Will...please...don't stop...anh...'_

"I'm sorry," Orman stammers, "I don't...understand..."

Will finally turns and gives an apologetic and indulgent smile. "No, neither did I, at first. It's a story in itself."

Orman lifts an inquiring eyebrow. "Would you?"

"If you walk with me. I have some letters to send out."

Will takes the long way through the winding halls of Whispering Pines. He avoids the more public areas - the game room, the media room, the aviary, the cafeteria. He takes his companion through the residential halls, the administrative wing, past the barber shop (closed today), and the family waiting rooms. His feet don't carry him as swiftly as they once did, but he is in no rush today. There is no urgent mission to be accomplished, no patient awaiting his attention.

"At first I thought she dyed her hair. But I noticed before long that I never caught a glimpse of blonde roots," he says, hands in his pockets as he strolls through the corridors. His letters protrude from the deep pockets of his blazer. "I thought maybe it had been an aspect of her altered physiology, an effect of the source blood. But one day, I just asked."

"Apropos of nothing?"

"Basically, yes. Not all work at the Sanctuary is glamorous. Definitely not all of it is exciting. We had inventory days, paperwork, meetings, inner office memos, broken copy machines, all the usual plagues of modern life. That afternoon we were in what Helen called The Repository and the rest of us called The Dump. It was a room where we kept clothes and miscellany that any of our guests left behind or no longer needed: furniture, clothing, all kinds of items that had belonged to residents or former residents of the Sanctuary. Or things employees donated. You see, our new guests often dropped on us mid-crisis, and it came in handy to have a good stock of necessities to be able to offer. Clothes, bedding, toiletries, a clock radio, crib, cage, tank, feeder, you know...the essentials. Well, sometimes The Dump got out of hand and there was a lot more coming in than going out, and we had to sort through the mess and thin it down to what was likely to be actually useful. This time the job went to Magnus and myself."

###

"It's fine, Will, it'll hold."

His hand lingered around a rung of the aged wooden ladder until Magnus was firmly seated at its top. He remained unwilling to trust the rickety apparatus.

Magnus glanced down at him, eyed his hand and lifted an eyebrow. "It'll hold," she repeated and turned her attention to the shelf before her.

"All right." Will raised his hands in surrender. "If you break your neck, it's not on me."

"It'll be fine," she said distractedly, stretching to retrieve a pile of clothes from the back of the closet.

Will took a seat at an ancient scuffed desk and resumed his exploration of a disintegrating shoebox of trinkets. "How long exactly has it been since someone sorted through this stuff?" he prompted as he rummaged.

"A while," Magnus offered vaguely.

"A while as in last year or as in I might not have been born yet?"

"Somewhere in between, I think."

"Hmm."

The ladder beside Will swayed alarmingly and he looked up to see Magnus fishing through her pockets. "What have you lost?" he asked against the precarious rocking.

"My hair band," she said, then she pointed down at the desktop before him. "Can you toss me that rubber band?"

"Yeah, sure." It crossed his mind briefly to shoot it at her like a slingshot, but then he thought better of making her dodge from her precarious perch and merely tossed the band upward.

Magnus snatched it skillfully out of the air and proceeded to wrangle her mass of curls into a knot at the base of her neck.

As Will watched the swift practiced motion of her fingers, it struck him how the tumble of curls spilling across aged photographs had lasted a century and a half. But the color, the splash of blonde, was gone. And truthfully, he still didn't know why.

He didn't realize he'd been staring until Magnus looked down from the pile of colored garments spread over her lap and asked bluntly, "What?"

Will felt his skin flush, and lowered his gaze to the desk. "I'm sorry, I was just...I never asked you..."

Magnus's hands dropped to her cloth-layered thighs. "Asked me what?" Just enough softness threaded into her brisk tone to encourage him forward.

"Well...about your hair. It used to be blonde. Yet, you don't seem to dye it, so..."

Her eyes narrowed and the slightest hint of a feisty smile pulled at her mouth. "Ever the observer. You do remind me of James, sometimes. Took you long enough to ask, though."

"I don't think it takes a James Watson to notice blonde turning to brown."

She fell into an indulgent smile. "No, but it takes some attention to notice the lack of roots."

Will tilted his head in consent. "Perhaps."

"At least for a man." The sparkle in her eye pre-empted any pretense of offense. She turned back to her sorting and drew a slow breath. He could feel the thoughts shifting behind her pale eyes.

Will returned to his study of the box in front of him, fished out two marbles, a magnifying glass, and a Happy Meal toy. Sometimes just letting the silences ride brought more from Magnus than all the questions in the world. She had been known to answer his questions minutes later. Or hours. Or on rare occasion, weeks, with no preamble to remind him what he'd asked.

Today it took only a few moments for her to speak. "It wasn't a side effect of the serum," she said to his unspoken question, folding a rather gaudy pink sweater and dropping it into a box at the foot of the ladder. Will hoped that was the giveaway pile. "In the early days of building the Sanctuary, of trying to actualize what my father began, things didn't run as...neatly and smoothly as they do now."

"Things run smoothly now?" Will snorted.

"By comparison, yes," she replied without humor. "No well-placed security systems or long established containment protocols back then. A lot of what we take for granted now was learned by trial and error in the beginning."

"No doubt. It's not like they had a course at Oxford Med on the handling of toxic abnormals."

"Exactly. The whole field of study was utterly untapped. Not to mentioned we didn't even have electricity on our side back then, Nikola's gifts aside," she added wryly.

"So, what happened?"

Magnus hefted another large pile of clothing onto her lap and Will surreptitiously stretched a hand out to steady the ladder. "We were sheltering a chameleopath. There was a parti-"

"I'm sorry, a what?"

"A chameleopath. It's a humanoid creature with both empathic and corresponding chameleon-like qualities. A chameleopath expresses his or her internal emotions through changes to her outward appearance. Skin tone, height, eye color, hair length."

"Like a walking mood ring."

Helen gave a notably irritated sigh, annoyed by the comparison, but unable to refute its accuracy. She clearly struggled with the word, "Yes. Sort of. But they're also empathic. And if the emotions of a person in the room with a chameleopath prove stronger than their own, the physical change will reflect the other person's emotions."

"Interesting. Like a living lie detector."

"In some cases, yes, though it's certainly not an exact science. Nothing can verify the source of the emotion."

"So, you were harboring this chamelapath-"

"Cham-e-le-o-path-"

"Chameleopath. Was she in danger?"

"She was. Felis Praedatorius, commonly known as the grimalkin. A massive cat-like creature that acts as the chameleopath's natural predator. They feed off certain elements in the nervous system fluids."

"Okay, eeiiww."

"It is rather horrifying, yes. Anyhow, grimalkin are very intelligent and unbelievably skilled trackers. We did our best to keep Akasha safe, but her hunter was a formidable foe. And as I said, security was not what it is now."

Will took a wooden kaleidoscope from the box, held it up to his eye and turned toward the window. "Why do I get the feeling this story doesn't have a happy ending?" he said as he watched the wondrous shifting of the colored crystals.

"Actually, it's all right." Magnus dropped another ragged and brightly colored sweater to the bottom of the ladder and Will felt pleasantly reassured this must indeed be the giveaway pile. "Akasha went on to live a normal life span. But we did have a rather nasty close call. The grimalkin broke into our Sanctuary and caused general mayhem and terror as you can imagine. I was the first one to reach Akasha, but had little back-up, and as fate would have it, the one weapon I had on my person jammed. Akasha was terrified, and it was all really rather cinematic - we were pressed into a corner, me having placed my body between predator and prey, and at the last moment James fired off a rifle from the opposite doorway and took down the Grimalkin mid-pounce. It dropped to the floor at our feet, shaking the whole room with its weight. One of James's more notably heroic moments," she finished with a smile.

"Impressive. But you were still blonde."

"Right." Magnus held a silk blouse up to the light for inspection. Studied the garment a moment too long. "In rare moments of extremely heightened emotion, particularly fear, chameleopaths can actually transfer their physical transformative effects to others upon touch. But the effect on the other person doesn't reflect the chameleopath's emotion, but rather the person's own prevailing state of mind. And assuming the other person doesn't have chamleopathic skills of his or her own, giving him the ability to return to center, the changes are permanent. As the creature was pouncing, Akasha's fear was so great, that when I threw myself against her to offer shelter, the contact prompted the transfer. It felt as though an electrical charge had traveled under my skin followed by a...rush of warm liquid. And a kind of flash before my eyes that I tried blame on the gunshot, but that wasn't it at all. And in that instant...my hair went dark."

"As an expression of your fear."

"Ah. Well, actually...no. There was a...stronger, prevailing emotion. Akasha knew, I saw it in her eyes in the moment after the transfer. She must have felt it in the exchange. Her hair matched mine for a while. Chameleopaths don't speak, but they are quite intelligent and communicative in other ways. Sign language mostly, but they also have a very highly developed sense of... " Magnus faded out, falling silent for a long moment, recognizing as much as Will her default escape into scientific diatribe. One of the blouses on her lap slipped unnoticed to catch on a lower rung of the ladder. Will watched with quiet breaths. The wood creaked. "It was a reflection of my prevailing emotions at the time," Helen said softly. "I was...in mourning. For John. For all I'd lost," she finished quietly.

Will's breath stopped.

And the ladder collapsed.

"Magnus!"

###

"Oh, my God, she fell?"

Will nods, a soft chuckle on his lips. "She did. Largely on me, and some really ugly sweaters, but... We were fine, just bruised a bit. Her ego was by far the most injured part of her anatomy. And don't think I let her forget the incident any time soon," he finishes, still grinning.

Orman gives a hesitant laugh, studying Will's expression with an incredulous air. Will has seen this look before. The one that says the person behind it can't imagine laughing at the likes of Helen Magnus, can't imagine she is like other mere mortals. Can't fathom how one might tease her or call her on her flaws or excesses of ego. Oddly enough, Will himself can't remember ever falling on that side of the experience. Extraordinary and strange as she might have seemed, Helen Magnus was a woman to him from the day they met. He often wonders if this is why she hired him all those years ago.

"This is our turn," Will says, stepping in front of his companion to lead the way out a set of double doors into a side courtyard.

Out on the pathway, a tall man with dark skin and shagged hair watches from a few yards away. Will gives the man a small nod as he and Orman emerge into the sunlight, and the man approaches. He moves with a grace that makes him almost indistinguishable from the shifting of the grass and the trees.

Orman remains silent and observant.

"Nathaniel," Will says with a smile of greeting as the lithe man approaches.

"The usual?" Nathaniel asks, and Will nods.

"Two today. Both the same." Will reaches back and pulls the letters from his pocket. He hands them off to Nathaniel, ever aware of the look of curiosity and confusion on Orman's face. Will knows Orman assumed they were heading toward a post office or a drop box.

Nathaniel gives a single nod of acknowledgement and tucks the letters inside his shirt.

"Thanks, again," Will says as he turns to go. He starts back toward the building and feels the reluctant, dragging steps of his companion. Will sees the retreating figure of Nathaniel out of the corner of his eye. He feels the light rise in the wind and catches the flicker of rising motion.

He keeps his focus on the brick path back as he sees Orman's double glance.

Wings flap overhead.

Orman gives a soft, choked sound, and Will glances his way. "Did you...did you see...did he just..." Orman stammers.

Will lifts his eyebrows as he holds the door for the younger man. "Just what?"

Orman opens and closes his mouth once or twice, then shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind." He steps through the open door, and Will follows with a hidden smile. _"Welcome to the Sanctuary."_

88888

"May I ask you something?"

Will fails to suppress a grin as he passes the salad dressing to his dinner companion. "Have you been holding back thus far?"

Orman acquiesces with a look of chagrin. "Of a slightly different nature," he amends. "Dr. Zimmerman, you've made it clear how difficult a life this has been for Dr. Magnus, the tolls taken. But I feel I should point out, you yourself were living this life beside her for a good many years. I should like to hear...a bit about your own experience. The darker side, if you'll allow, of life at the Sanctuary. It can't have been an easy choice, to follow the path you've lived."

Will chews the thought along with his salad. "Naturally. Sometimes it got...really hard. Especially in the early years. Before I'd adapted my perspectives, found a new way of looking at things, of keeping my centered ground on new terrain. In that first year...everything changed for me. Not just about my present, but about my past."

"You can change the past?" Orman asks around a bite of fruit salad, teasing clear in his voice.

"Well, now, _that's_ a tale for another day. But suffice to say that this time I'm talking about changing what you believe. Changing what you think you know about the past. And how it informs your choices in the present."

The two men eat in silence for a bit. Will has brought Orman to the penthouse dining room tonight. An extra fee is required for most residents to use this room. It's more of a public restaurant, meant for the convenience of dinner with visiting family and friends. Will is afforded...certain privileges in this place.

The second course has arrived when Will says, "I think the hardest night came the first year. Worse things happened to me after that, certainly, but I was...more equipped to deal with them."

"Understandable," Orman says sincerely, and Will is again gratified by the man's perceptiveness.

"Several months after I began my work at the Sanctuary, a woman and her young son came to us for help. The woman had telepathic abilities. Rather formidable ones. Life hadn't treated her very well, and she'd gotten involved with some very bad people in the underground abnormal community. But she was a good woman. Just trying to do all she could for her son." He takes a bite of glazed chicken and lets the sauce slide over his tongue.

_"Slow down," she says._

_"What?"_

_"Slow down, Will. This is the one area in life where I have more patience than you do. You eat like a fire alarm is going off. How do you even taste what's in your mouth? I'm paying for this, you know. You should stop and taste it, once in a while."_

"We tried to protect her," he says "We offered her a place at the Sanctuary. She accepted the help, and she stayed for a week or two. We got to know them. I spent a fair amount of time with the boy, drawing him out, trying to make him feel secure. I don't think he'd ever felt secure in his life. But his mother delayed them moving in more permanently. She insisted there were a few last things she wanted to take care of. So she and the boy went back to spend a few more nights at their place. We placed a guard, but..."

"But it didn't help," Orman finishes.

"Not enough. We should have tried harder to get her to stay with us from the first night. We thought the guard would be enough. We underestimated the determination of her enemies. It was a judgment call. We couldn't make her our prisoner if she didn't want to stay, but... Magnus wasn't much more comfortable with it than I was, and we had actually already gotten on the road to drive over and pick them up when we got the emergency signal from the guard. Telekinetic hitman had blasted into the apartment, taken out our own guards, permanently in one case, and killed the mother. Only the boy survived. And only because our man threw himself in the way and put a bullet in the attacker's head as they both went down."

"Dear God. Did the boy see it all?"

Will tries to swallow his meat, finds the memory from so long ago too fresh. "He did. We arrived just moments after the fact. The boy was huddled on the floor in the corner. Like a frightened animal."

"I'm sorry," Orman says and rests his fork idly against the side of his plate.

"I just...I wasn't expecting it, you know? I don't know why, I should have been but...I just hadn't seen it coming. Not like that. I thought I knew how it would go."

###

He hardly remembered the trip from the West Side to the Sanctuary. He remembered Magnus carrying the child from the car on her hip, even though the boy was nearly ten years old. Will had trailed her heels as she carried the boy up the stairs to what was to be to his room for some time, settled him for the night, then left him in the care of an empath in residence at the Sanctuary.

Magnus had met Will's eyes for a long moment on her way out of the boy's room, but she hadn't spoken.

She had told everyone to get cleaned up and meet in her office in twenty minutes.

She joined the group, freshened up and out of her field clothes and into an elegant dress, a narrow scarf at her throat. Will gathered around the table with the others, and the normally chill and brisk air of the room pressed on his skin like a cloak. Taylor, an abnormal the others had known and worked with for many years, was dead. A tragic and heroic loss in the line of duty. The boy's mother, whom they had all just started to think of as potentially one of their own, was gone. Will could hardly hear Magnus's words over the roaring in his ears. The others around him seemed to be taking refuge in routine. In security plans and practical steps forward. In picking up the pieces and planning for the next hours and days for the boy. But he couldn't hold onto any of this. All he could grasp was the woman on the floor of her apartment like a limp pile of bloodied rags and the wide-eyed horror in the eyes of the child.

"Will." The word was a command. Insistent. He must have missed her first address.

"What?"

"I need you to work with Henry. We should start as soon as possible running a full assessment on the boy. We need to know what his inherited abilities might be, what precautions we might need to be taking when he's in such a heightened state of emotion."

"No."

Magnus's eyebrow rose. "I'm sorry?"

Will could feel all sets of eyes turn to him around the worktable.

"No. I'm not testing that kid. He just went through hell, I'm not adding fuel to the fire."

"We're not trying to hurt him, Will," she said calmly, open hands propped on the tabletop. "We're trying to help him. If he has inherited even a fraction of his mother's abilities, their enemies will have picked up on this. And that means that we can no longer protect him if-"

Will's vision blurred and the blood in his veins flared like fire. He shoved a stack of file folders from the table, causing Ashley to unfold her arms and take a defensive step backward. Henry uttered a soft curse but remained where he stood. "We couldn't protect him the first time!" Will shouted. Angry. Angry at the universe, angry at Magnus, angry at himself.

"Will, we..." Magnus began, but the warning look in Will's eyes silenced her argument. His last impression was the intensity of her narrowed blue eyes and the wide-eyed expressions surrounding her as he turned and stumbled blindly out of the air that was drawing like soot through his lungs.

The wind buffeted his ears until the roar was lost in more natural sound. He hadn't planned to come here; he had let his steps lead him randomly away. To anywhere, anywhere open, anywhere far away. Anywhere he might not see the blood or the woman or the boy. Far from the guest wing and the child he knew lay curled in a safe cocoon in which he would never again believe.

The wind rushed too loud for Will to hear the door or the click of her approaching steps, but he felt her behind him like an encroaching storm. She had given him time. Just enough. Not enough.

He gripped the stone blocks of the North Tower until the rough surface stung his fingertips. He called over his shoulder into the turbulent night. "Magnus, I don't want to hear it!"

He felt her shadow. He caught just enough in the edges of his vision to know she had little protection against the night's icy wind. A thin shawl wrapped haphazardly around her arms, over the thin silk of her dress. "You want to blame me, don't you," she said simply. Her commanding voice pierced the gathering storm.

"What?" He looked over his shoulder despite his determination. Her words had caught him off guard. "Why would I blame you? This was my job as much as yours. My mistake. I let her go."

"You've blamed me all these years."

The words were so simple, left no space for dissention. He should have known, should have realized she knew even before he understood himself.

"I didn't-" He couldn't finish. Wordless anger flared in his guts. Jumbled memories and wind-torn nights of pain tangled with the present and a little boy in a Sanctuary blanket.

Magnus watched him with uncanny stillness.

Will wanted to shatter her calm, scream at her, shake her, force her to move so he could escape the moment. He wanted to remind her the world was as cruel on the outside as it felt in his head tonight. "You didn't save her!" he shouted, his voice strong enough to silence the wind.

He turned now, stared her down where she stood like another turret to her tower. This woman at his back; the vision of his dreams and the ghost of his nightmares, beautiful and pale, dark hair mixing with the strokes of the night.

Her blue gaze wouldn't waver, wouldn't give. In a surge of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Will's stomach twisted with the desire to have her as his friend again. She was all he had to fight and push against and he didn't want to let that go. He didn't know how to pull the two realities into one.

"You can't look at it quite the same anymore, can you?" she said, reading through him once again.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He felt dizzy and wished he weren't standing quite so close to the edge.

Her voice remained strong and even. "Because you're in my place, now. It must have been easier to hate me."

Will dropped his hands to his sides and let his weight fall back against the half wall. The cold stone stung his hips, but he welcomed the pain. He was losing focus. "I didn't...hate you, I..."

"Yes. You did."

"I didn't..." He struggled to catch the words, to put long buried images and sensation into concrete language. And when the whole notion began to feel like having his guts ripped out and laid on display for the world, he discovered a new kinship with his patients. Always hardest to swallow your own medicine. "As long as I believed there was something else you could have done...that if you'd tried harder, it could have been stopped...that she could have been saved...then it was...it was still..."

"Something under your control. Something in your realm of understanding. Something you could defend yourself against. And your mother."

He shoved off the wall and let the anger consume him again, desperate to drown the ache. "We promised! We promised to help that little boy! And now it's over. It's happened, the worst has happened, and he's going to live his life just like I lived mine. And there's not a damned thing we can do to change it."

Magnus took a step closer and the icy wind fluttered her thin layers, making him colder just watching her. "You're right we can't change things. But you never broke your promise. You didn't promise you could fix everything. You promised you would help. And you did. You did all you could. Her life was still her own. Her choices hers to make. And without you, without your help, that little boy wouldn't be alive."

Will cringed and looked away. He shook his head. "It's not enough. It's not enough."

"It never is," Magnus said softly.

He met her gaze, then, unwilling. As they held the silent communion, Helen tilted her head just a fraction, softened her eyes just a trace, and gave him all the understanding and shared hurt he was resisting with all he had.

"Oh, God...he's such a little kid..." Will's voice cracked and he turned his back on her, pulled off his glasses and the world blurred into dark shadows and flaring stars. Three nights ago the boy had curled in his lap as Will read to him from _Treasure Island_. In a last surge of anger to fight the encroaching tears, he moved to hurl his glasses off the tower. A firm hand caught his and slipped the precious object from his fingers. The determined tenderness in the gesture ripped at the last of his walls. "Goddammit, Magnus..." He smacked at the stone with the flat of his bare hand, scuffing the skin, too numb to care in the cold. "Goddammit", he whispered, but the thickness in his voice betrayed him. He hadn't cried in years, hadn't cried in front of anyone since his childhood days in the hospital after his mother's death. But it was all tumbling in on him and ripping open everything he had learned to keep boxed and hidden and cold.

Before he fully understood or admitted what was happening, she was there. Her arms wrapped around his huddled form, her shawl spread over them both like the wings of a mother bird, and his face was pressed to her chest, tears trailing her pale skin to sink beneath her dress.

He clung to her for long moments, letting her be the one thing holding still in the frantic and fearful night, just as she had been a lifetime ago. Just as she had been for that little boy tonight. The two realities pulled together in his heart and mind.

The knot in his chest untangled a fraction, and the wind once again took precedence to the roaring in his ears. Will whispered into his mentor's breast, "I never hated you."

Magnus didn't reply, but he felt the movement of a slight nod where her chin rested on the back of his bent head. She cleared her throat, and he realized she was fighting tears as well, and the sound nearly broke his heart.

He started to straighten. "Magnus..."

"Ssshh..." she whispered. He let it go.

They stood together a long time. Shifted position until they were both staring out at the beauty and the horror and the wonder of Old City. They huddled close for warmth. Will moved his hands to warm Magnus's upper arms. She let him.

"What happened to _your_ mother?" he asked softly.

"Not tonight," she said.

"But you loved her?"

"Deeply."

"Do you still miss her?"

"Almost constantly."

They stood a while longer. Then Magnus looked at him in the moonlight, touched the backs of her fingers feather light to his cheek, said, "Tell him goodnight," then turned and vanished inside the Sanctuary. Leaving him to find his solid ground, alone. Giving him what she herself would have wanted. The chance to leave this on the tower. To walk back into her office like nothing had ever happened.

He felt her lingering warmth against his side.

###

The silence at the dinner table is not unlike that of the North Tower in memory.

Orman does not speak, does not attempt to carry Will's train of thought further.

Will takes a sip of the exquisite white wine, swirls it over his tongue, and returns his goblet to the table. "Usually," he says, "she was the one incapable of letting others take care of her. The one you had to ask the same question of a dozen times before you got the real answer. The one who snapped at the wrong people and chose anger over confession. It took...a long time before she ever let me take care of her. That night things were the other way around. And she's very skilled at flipping your own psychology on you," he added, with the first hints of a wry smile to shift the mood. "It wouldn't be the first or last time she pointed out to me that for all my talk and encouragement in teaching others how to open up and accept support, in fact, I was...well, far more like her than I would ever admit. At least back then."

"Things have changed?"

Will spins his spoon in his fingers, watching the flickered reflection of candlelight and listening to the soft murmurs around them. "In the beginning, I thought I knew everything. Or at least a lot more than I did."

"Much like my daughters."

Will chuckles. "Yeah, I would imagine. I thought I knew what was best for her, what was the healthiest approach psychologically. I thought I was the trained professional, the authority. And sometimes my approach _was_ right. But perhaps the biggest lesson I learned from Helen Magnus, was that sometimes...sometimes it was okay to just let her be...Magnus. To let her keep her sense of self, let her do it all alone. Or she wouldn't be who she is. We were always there for her if needed, and she knew that. I think that's what mattered in the end."

"I think that's what matters to most of us in the end."

Will nodded. "Some of us learn faster than others," he says with a raise of his glass.

88888

_"Do you still feel that way?"_

_"What?"_

_His fingers slide once again through the softness of her hair as the tails blow across his own shoulder. "Your prevailing emotion." He holds the dark curls higher for her view._

_She looks at the dark locks for a moment, then lifts her gaze to hold his. "No. Not like I did, then. Not without hope. I've seen too much beauty in the world. Loved too many good people."_

_He watches her for a beat. "But you let your hair stay dark."_

_"I don't really have a way of permanently changing it back, you know. There are hardly chameleopaths on every corner, they're nearly extinct, since the attack in-"_

_"You've never even tried to dye it."_

_She is quiet, gazing out across the deepening twilight. He can feel it. He has no abnormal abilities. He doesn't need them._

_Will says, "It's not enough, is it? It wouldn't change back even if she touched you again. Because you still feel it. It's still the right color, isn't it?"_

_The quiet remains. Then, "If it wasn't before...which...it probably was, but...now...after Ashley..." They breathe together for a beat before she says, "I am who I am."_

_He stands beside her. It's all he can do._

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Credit for the story behind Magnus's hair must be given in part to Geonn Cannon. When a group of us were brainstorming ideas to explain the color change (and whether it was real or dyed), Geonn Cannon suggested Helen went dark as a symbol of eternal mourning for John. I had already come up with the idea of the encounter with the abnormal, so the two ideas got pressed together to form the version that appears in this story. So, thanks, Geonn!:D


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